


lights will guide you home (and ignite your bones)

by kwazi



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, and when i say slow i mean garden snail, overuse of dramatic analogies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwazi/pseuds/kwazi
Summary: Yuzuru Hanyu is a shooting star or maybe a whirlwind, something swift and temporary. Here one second and gone the next. Javier just keeps trying to chase Yuzuru. He doesn't know how that ends with him head over heels.Javier is bad at falling in love. Or maybe he’s actually really good at it. So good that he doesn’t even notice how or when it happened.





	1. beginning

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm only going to write one overly-symbolic fic about figure skaters to get it out of my system," she thought to herself. "This isn't going to become a thing," she thought to herself. She thought wrong.

This is how it begins.

Nikolai Morozov is an unforgiving coach and hard to impress if you aren’t one of his favorites, and Javier definitely isn’t. The older man whistles and says, “That kid has quite the triple axel.”

Javier looks up to find a scrawny Japanese boy in the middle of his short program covered in feathers and sparkles and many, many colors. The program ends, and the boy does a strange cross between exhausted flailing and bowing as the announcer repeats his name. Yuzuru Hanyu.

Sighing, Javier studies Morozov out of the corner of his eye and sees the excited light on his face. Sometimes it feels like Morozov just enjoys collecting good skaters, adding their names to his ever-growing list of achievements. Javier is here, but he doesn’t think he can be considered an achievement.

“What an ugly costume,” Javier finally says, turning on his heel and heading for the locker rooms.

Away from Morozov’s running commentary on other skaters, from the overwhelming stands, from the way the rink seems so intimidating once it is cleared. Empty and vast, waiting to be filled by something striking and beautiful. Something like the boy’s triple axel. Not Javier and his rather lackluster skating career up to this point. He spares the young Yuzuru Hanyu one last glance and hopes, both selfishly and selflessly, that he never ends up on Morozov’s list either.

This is how it begins.

It doesn’t.

—

This is how it actually begins.

It’s some time in March of 2012 when Brian asks Javier, “Do you remember Yuzuru Hanyu?”

Javier nods, setting his water bottle back on the bench. Who doesn’t remember the young Romeo of the World Championships?

“He’s asking me to be his coach. He wants to come train at the Cricket Club, but I’m not going to confirm anything without everyone’s okay.”

Javier can’t help but smile. He wonders how much of this conversation is because of Morozov and Florent. Javier likes to think he’s matured quite a bit since those days, but he won’t deny that it’s nice to be validated.

“Sure,” Javier shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

Brian looks visibly relieved, and Javier knows that he gave the right response. Besides, Javier remembers that performance, that passion and anger. The young skater threw himself into every jump without any sign of hesitation. He really was Romeo, seventeen and desperate to prove to everyone what he was made of. They could only watch as he put his entire heart out there on the ice to be judged. It was a much needed reminder of why Javier still loves figure skating the way he does after his own less than stellar long program.

Javier pushes away from the benches with grin. Yeah, he certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is quickly looking to become the longest fic I've ever written which I am both excited and a little nervous about. Here's to hoping I see this through! I have written most of the next chapter already which just needs editing so that's good at least. Un-betaed so all mistakes are mine.


	2. setting the scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the long, long journey to becoming #esposas: Toronto, quads, bonding over food, and the failure to procure poutine.

After you’ve been in the senior circuit of the figure skating world long enough, you come to either know everyone or know of everyone. Yuzuru is definitely one of those skaters that Javier knows of more than he actually knows. They’ve been at the same events before, but Yuzuru has a tendency to keep to himself at competitions.

By the time the Japanese skater arrives on a Tuesday morning at the beginning of May, Javier knows maybe five things about his new training mate. As it turns out, the weird skater with the Pooh toy is pretty mild-mannered off the ice. He bows politely through his introductions and repeatedly thanks them, instructors and students alike.

"This is Javier Fernandez,” Brian introduces.

“Nice to meet you.” Yuzuru bows. The syllables are careful in a way that reveals how often the speaker has practiced them in the bathroom mirror. That’s definitely a feeling Javier can relate to.

“Nice to meet you. You can just call me Javi by the way.” Javier sticks his hand out, and after a slight pause, Yuzuru shakes his hand with a small smile.

“Yuzuru.” The younger skater points at himself.

“Well, Yuzuru, are you planning to skate today?” Javier jerks his head in the direction of Yuzuru’s skates by the door.

“I can?” Yuzuru asks Brian, and Javier can practically see the coach melt in the face of pure eagerness in those puppy dog eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t strain yourself. Your first planned practice is tomorrow. You should rest up, and get used to the time difference.”

Javier doubts that much of Brian’s advice makes it to Yuzuru because the boy is already dragging his bags to one of the benches and changing into skates. Brian seems to realize this as well and just sighs in defeat.

“Are you warmed up?” Javier asks.

Yuzuru nods as he bends over in half to touch the ice. Then, before Javier has time to formulate a response, Yuzuru is taking off along the longside of the rink. He laps around once before leaping into a triple axel and soaring across the ice. At the apex of the jump, Yuzuru almost seems suspended in the air. Just as quickly, he comes down in an absolutely beautiful landing, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he did indeed make all three-and-a-half rotations.

Javier blinks dumbly and makes eye contact with Brian who honestly looks just as astonished. Yuzuru possesses a scary kind of intensity. A ‘let me just casually throw out a triple axel’ kind of intensity.

Tracy steps away from her stroking class to join Javier and Brian. “Looks like we might have another Mr. Triple Axel around here.”

Yuzuru, unaware of Tracy’s comment and everyone else’s reactions, is already going for a triple salchow. This jump doesn’t go as well, and he ends up toppling over. Brian makes to go help him, but Yuzuru is already on his feet.

He gives them a sheepish smile, dusting some of the ice off his shirt. “Good rink. Like the ice. Thank you.”

Brian rubs a tired hand over his face while Javier just laughs. This will definitely be interesting.

—

Almost a month later, Javier still only knows maybe five things about Yuzuru. Most of the time, he’s coming in for the afternoon and only bumps into Yuzuru as he’s leaving. They exchange some simple pleasantries before Yuzuru scurries away.

Yuzuru isn’t avoiding Javier or anything like that. He just never wants to stick around and talk with anybody. At least, Javier doesn’t think Yuzuru is avoiding him. If anything, it’s the opposite. The only thing that bugs Javier about his new training partner is that the kid has a staring problem.

Javier is trying to play it cool, but it’s hard when he knows that there’s a pair of expressive, dark eyes scrutinizing him from the other side of the rink. It is decidedly uncomfortable to have that boring into your back while jumping, and Javier doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. No one’s brought it up yet, but Javier can tell from the sly amusement on both Brian and Tracy’s faces that everyone’s noticed it.

Tracy clucks disapprovingly as Javier flubs an easy transition. “Take a quick break, Javi. Come back when you’re ready to focus.”

Javier scowls and makes a bee-line for the culprit. This ends now. His facial expression must be something scary because the other skater takes a step back towards the wall. Javier comes to a halt right in front of Yuzuru.

“Stop it.”

“What?” Those eyes are now wide and confused. Javier has to forcefully remind himself to not be distracted by the act of innocence.

Javier takes a deep breath and changes tracks, careful to take the more accusatory tone out of his voice. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

Yuzuru blushes, ducking his head and peeking out at Javier from beneath his fringe. “Sorry. Didn’t think you see.”

“Well, I did, so what were you doing?” Javier asks, annoyance giving way to curiosity.

Yuzuru brightens up all of a sudden. “Quad look so nice.”

“You were watching my jumps?” Javier asks slowly.

“Yes,” Yuzuru nods furiously, his weird bowlcut flopping about. “One reason come to Brian. Really good quads. Clean landing.”

Javier takes a moment to let this sink in. Spain has a grand total of fourteen indoor rinks, and Javier is used to being at the bottom of the pack. He’s never exactly had anyone tell him that they admired his skating before. He ends up laughing, a combination of pride—in Brian and in himself with how far he’s come—and of relief. For a while, he really was worried that Yuzuru was trying to start a fight.

“In that case, do you want to do jumping practice with me and Tracy for a bit?” Javier offers.

“Yes,” Yuzuru answers immediately, practically bouncing in his skates.

Javier finds himself laughing again as this weird, floppy Japanese boy races towards Tracy. From the expansive gestures and excitement being exchanged, Javier can tell that Tracy agreed. When Javier skates within earshot, the giggly boy is gone once more, and he’s starting to worry that Yuzuru might have a strange case of split personality.

“Quad sal is…” Yuzuru trails off, making a face to express his displeasure.

“Lucky for you then. Javi’s quad salchow is coming along quite nicely. Let him show you,” Tracy gestures for Javier to take the jump.

“Watch and learn, Yuzuru. I’m giving you permission this time,” Javier jests.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but one minute he’s going into the jump, and the next second he’s careened so far off axis that there’s no saving it. He ends up doing some weird flailing motions before conceding his defeat to gravity and spinning around on his back.

Suddenly, a peal of giggles rings through the air, and Javier thinks that it might be the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. He looks up and Yuzuru is doubled over while Tracy shakes her head in the background.

“I’d like to see you do better,” Javier challenges, rubbing at his back.

Yuzuru grins suddenly, sharp and proud. “Yes, my turn now.”

Javier sits on the ice with the cold water seeping through his pants and watches this skinny boy throw himself full-force into a quad salchow and actually land it. There’s a correction on the landing that has Yuzuru scrunching his nose, but Javier is still utterly charmed. His back aches almost as much as his pride, but somehow he wants to crack this enigma of a skater, someone who can go from levity to severity in a minute’s time, who can do triple axels in their sleep but still carries around a Pooh bear to every competition.

At the very least, Javier would definitely like to hear that laugh more often.

—

After that, they will practice jumps together if they are both at the Cricket Club. Yuzuru still tends to pull away if Javier gets too close and chooses to call him ‘Javier’ even though he struggles with the syllables. They’re not friends, and they don’t have to be, but Javier wants to see if it's possible to make Yuzuru actually relax.

On a Thursday, Javier gets his chance.

“Have you had the French crepes here yet?” Javier asks.

“No. What is crepe?” Yuzuru skates back from finishing a triple axel with twizzles, panting slightly.

“It’s a dessert. They’re really good. Would you like to try some?”

“Sure.” Yuzuru shrugs.

“Cool. There’s actually a shop close to the rink. We could walk there.”

“Now?” Yuzuru blinks at Javier, taken aback by the other’s suggestion.

“Yeah, unless you’re busy?” Javier asks.

Yuzuru shakes his head hesitantly. Javier sighs. He doesn’t get why Yuzuru is acting like he’s trying to kidnap him or sell him drugs.

“You don’t have to,” Javier assures him. “But we’re training mates now, so it’d be cool if we were sorta friends.”

“Friends,” Yuzuru echoes dumbly.

That’s when Brian emerges from his office and calls out, “Oh good, you’re still here. Yuzuru, could I have a word before you leave?”

“Yes,” Yuzuru responds before turning to Javier with a small smile. “Talk with Brian then we go?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Javier agrees, glad that the other boy said yes.

Brian is standing along rink side and holding a familiar composition notebook, and Javier immediately knows what this is about.

It must show on his face because Brian just rolls his eyes and says, “Javier’s already done this, and he claims that it’s too cheesy, but I find it helps you guys and the team to know what to focus on. Every year we ask the skaters what their goals are for the season.”

Yuzuru nods solemnly through Brian’s explanation and then says with total conviction, “Goals are win Sochi Olympics. Do two quads in long this year.”

“Your goal for this season is to win Sochi?” Brian seems to be at a complete loss.

Javier is too. His goals were minuscule in comparison. Something about spins and competition pressure.

“Yes.” There is a wild fire in his eyes. “This season work to next, and next is Sochi.”

“Okay, okay. So Yuzuru’s goal is to get to the Olympics,” Brian mutters to himself as he jots this down.

Yuzuru shakes his head. “Not get to. I want gold.”

Brian laughs because what else can you do when faced with this. “Okay, we can work with that.”

“Thank you, Coach.” Yuzuru bows and seems genuinely thankful. It’s probably rare for Yuzuru and his baby face to be taken seriously when he declares his ambitions like this.

Brian waves off the gratitude. “We’ll be talking about this more later in the season, but it’s good for the team to know where the skaters stand. Anyway, run along now. I’ll see you both for practice tomorrow. We can start discussing music and choreography.”

They say their goodbyes, and then the two skaters are on their way out of the building, toting their practice bags. Javier doesn’t really know what to say. He didn’t quite realize that his new training mate is a monster. He makes small talk instead. Toronto weather. Food. Football.

Thankfully, Javier wasn’t lying when he said that the crepe shop was close, so they didn’t have to suffer Javier’s awkward babbling for too long.

Yuzuru makes a humming noise once they enter the shop. “I have before in Nice.”

“Did you like them?” Javier asks as they move further up the line.

“Yes, very good.” Yuzuru nods. “What’s name again?”

“Crepes.”

“Weird.” Yuzuru crinkles his nose with his distaste for English and its tendency to borrow from other languages.

“You really shouldn’t be learning English from me. I’ve got an accent, too.” Javier cringes at the idea of Yuzuru trying to mimic words with his own Madrileno accent.

“Better than me.” Yuzuru insists.

The conversation flows much easier after that, mostly with Yuzuru pointing at random things and asking for their name. By the time they get their food, Javier is just saying things in Spanish and hoping that Yuzuru doesn’t notice the difference.

They end up sitting in a park nearby, and talking stops in favor of eating. Javier smiles to himself as he watches Yuzuru struggle. “Good?”

“Yes, but messy,” Yuzuru says, licking some stray chocolate off his thumb.

“So what’s your favorite dessert then?” Javier manages to ask through a mouthful of chocolate and whip cream.

“Hmm, strawberry shortcake,” Yuzuru says after some serious contemplation. “You?”

“Definitely flan.”

“Flan?”

This inevitably leads to Javier trying to describe flan to Yuzuru. Javier doesn’t think he does a very good job because Yuzuru only seems more confused and even a little concerned about Javier’s dietary habits. Then they move onto favorite pastimes. They both like video games, Yuzuru is definitely not a Real Madrid fan, which Javier is determined to change, and Yuzuru is still in school because as mentioned before he is a crazy monster.

Around this time, they’ve both finished eating, and Javier asks, “Do you know how to get home from here?”

“Yes, take subway.” Yuzuru points in the general direction of the nearest station.

“Let me walk you.”

“No, please. I don’t want bother.”

“It’s not a bother,” Javier insists. “Why? Are you getting sick of me already?”

Yuzuru seems torn between common courtesy and reassuring Javier that he isn’t unwanted. They both realize that it’s a trick question but a clever one. Eventually, Yuzuru yields.

“Yay,” Javier cheers. “I get to spend more time with Yuzuru!”

“Stop it,” Yuzuru protests, blushing.

They’re walking along calm Toronto streets. It’s midday, so most people are either at work or in school. Toronto is very different from Madrid. In Madrid, there is always some kind of reminder that it’s an old place, whether it be the cathedral from the 19th century at the street corner or the sheer amount of _abuelas_ sitting on their terraces, drinking coffee and gossiping. Toronto is a modern city, or at least that’s what it feels like to Javier. Everything is a busy hustle. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely different.

Javier tilts his head back to the once foreign sky that he now sees more than he sees the sky of his beloved Madrid, and he dares to question, “Your goal is Sochi, huh?”

“Yes. What is Javier’s goal?” the younger skater asks, glancing up at Javier.

Javier snorts. “Nothing as big as that.”

“Why?” Yuzuru demands.

“What do you mean?” Javier suddenly regrets breaching this topic.

“Goal big so you work hard. Why have small goal?”

“I guess we’re just different people,” Javier explains, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the ends. “I can focus more if the goals are small, and I can see them.”

“I have small goal, too. But big one also important.” Yuzuru chews on his bottom lip, struggling to explain this in English so Javier can understand. “I skate to win, so why not win big?”

“Obviously, I would love to win gold all the time, but that’s not really something you just say.” Javier’s beginning to suspect that the two of them just don’t operate on the same wavelength.

“I say, so can’t stop. If people hear, then I think that I must do to not disappoint. If I not believe I can, why should they?” Yuzuru says all this with utmost seriousness. His mouth is set tight, and Javier can see the fire in his eyes again.

Javier sighs as they cross the street. The thought of having to constantly worry about winning and disappointing people unsettles him. “I just don’t think that works for me. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Yuzuru nods, and Javier is lulled into a false sense of safety, thinking that Yuzuru would drop it. “Other big goals too. I skate for Sendai and for Japan.”

They turn a corner. “Figure skating isn’t exactly big in Spain.”

“Make big,” Yuzuru suggests with a happy smile.

“What?” Javier is having trouble following the Japanese skater, both mentally and physically. Apparently, Yuzuru’s very excited about this idea of his. He’s practically skipping out in front of Javier.

“Make skating big in Spain.”

Javier scoffs. “That’s a lot easier said than done.”

They turn another corner, rounding up near the subway entrance. Javier stares at Yuzuru and his overflowing sense of confidence and marvels at where it all comes from. How does that slim body carry so much? How can human skin bound in such passion and drive?

“Yes, but you say it, and then you work to win a lot. If people in Spain see win, they can support. Hard, but is a big goal, nice goal.” Yuzuru has stopped walking at this point, turning around to face Javier in all his glory, and it is as if he has been placed under a magnifying glass. All of a sudden, he is transparent.

Javier breathes in and looks up at this familiarly foreign sky. It is a cloud-spat blue with just enough of a breeze to push these marshmallow giants along, and he wonders what it would be like to skate a Grand Prix Final or a World Championship in Spain. Javier knows the likelihood of that happening is slim, but the thought of it momentarily fills him with pride. It sounds impossible, but it also sounds incredible. It sounds like the promise of home.

“You’re right.” Javier chuckles, looking back down to Yuzuru. “It is a very nice goal.”

“Can be your goal?” Yuzuru asks, pushing Javier even further.

Javier concedes defeat in the face of unbridled eagerness. “Sure, it’s my goal now. Thank you, Yuzuru.”

“You’re welcome,” Yuzuru says, puffing out his little sparrow chest in pride.

“Aren’t you like fifteen? How are you so much wiser than I am?” Javier teases, ruffling Yuzuru’s hair.

Yuzuru squeals and squirms away. “I’m seventeen!”

“Really?” Javier leans back and pretends to inspect Yuzuru. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Javier is mean.” Yuzuru pouts, reaching up to fix his hair.

“I am so nice. I show you good food.”

Yuzuru rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify that statement with a response. Instead, he points at descending stairs to the subway tunnel. “We are here. Thank you for walking me, Javier.”

“You’re welcome.”

Javier starts to leave but turns around last minute and calls out to a retreating back, “Hey, Yuzuru! Now that you’ve given me my goal, do you think you could just call me Javi?”

Yuzuru snaps around, startled by the yell, and then the words connect, and he laughs. It’s not even giggles anymore. It’s peals of horse laughter, and Javier kind of loves it.

“Goodbye, Javi,” Yuzuru says pointedly and bounds down the remaining steps.

Javier is light on his feet. This whole conversation was silly. It was almost like the types of discussions between children about what they want to be when they grow up, discussions where options like wizard and princess are thrown out. Yuzuru somehow makes Javier consider wild things. He makes Javier think about huge and endless possibilities as if he were back in Madrid as a young boy and the whole world was an adventure waiting to happen.

He looks over his shoulder at those tunnels that are now carrying a boy with an amazing ambition under this strange, bustling city, and he doesn’t know whether that is a good thing or a bad thing.

—

The next week Javier finds them repeating this under a very different mood. Everything is gray in a way that reminds Javier of steam coming out of a kettle and old linens and the color of goodbye. It is the palette of spring clearing out its bits and pieces to make way for summer.

Yuzuru is, for lack of better word, brooding. The boy has only taken a single bite of his ice cream and alternates between scowling and sighing deeply.

“What’s wrong?” Javier asks, bumping their shoulders together.

Yuzuru chews on his bottom lip, debating whether to tell Javier at all. Finally, he relents with another grumpy scowl. “Come Canada for jump, but Brian always tell skating skills and stroking. All the time.”

“Well, he isn’t wrong. We need a strong foundation for jumps and stuff.”

Yuzuru kicks the pavement with the toe of his foot. “Don’t like it. I have frustration with.”

“What are you having the most problem with? Maybe I can help,” Javier offers.

“Brian say not be boy. Be man, but not say how,” Yuzuru grumbles. “He say I need life ex—expr—”

“Experience?”

“Yes, that. I don’t know what mean,” he complains.

Javier has to hold back his amusement at the thought of Brian trying to pull the sense of a man out of this gangly teenager and tries his best to be helpful. “Do you trust Brian?”

“Trust is not problem,” the Japanese skater insists.

“Good.” Javier clasps his shoulder. “Brian knows what he’s doing. He cares about his skaters.”

“I know.” Yuzuru sighs. “I will work harder. Was frustrate today only.”

Javier gets it. Some days are just harder than others. None of your jumps land right, you keep getting critiques that don’t make sense, and the stress builds up. Then he notices something else off.

“Did you not like it?”

He points at Yuzuru’s ice cream. It’s slowly melting, and Yuzuru really hasn’t touched it at all after the first bite. Not even a bad training day could excuse neglecting ice cream like that. Javier’s own is long gone, residing at the bottom of a trash can somewhere.

Yuzuru gazes sadly at the paper container in his hand. “Don’t know what taste is.”

“It’s pistachio.”

“Don’t like.” Yuzuru shakes his head resolutely.

“What did you think it was?” Javier asks.

“Green tea.”

Javier blanches at the thought. “What? That’s disgusting.”

“No,” Yuzuru defends. “Is really good. You try when you go Japan.”

“I’ll hate it.”

Yuzuru sticks out his tongue and waves his sad pistachio ice cream at Javier. “I hate this.”

“Give it here then.” Javier takes it from him and starts eating it himself. “You can’t just waste Ben and Jerry's.”

Yuzuru stares at Javier with wide eyes and a light blush dusting his cheeks. Javier stops mid-bite and mentally chastises himself. Sometimes he forgets that Yuzuru is much more reserved than the rest of his friends and has personal boundaries a mile wide.

“Sorry,” Javier mumbles around a mouthful of ice cream.

“No, is fine.” Yuzuru blurts out, finding a sudden interest in his scuffed sneakers.

“Let me make it up to you since I just stole your ice cream.” The vaguest shadow of an idea is forming in Javier’s head.

“How?” The other boy still retains a bit of a blush but is peering at Javier curiously.

Javier thinks about Yuzuru’s skinny limbs and the healthy, homemade lunches he brings to the rink. It’s probably not the ‘life experience’ Brain meant, but it’s still something new, and it’ll get Yuzuru to go out more. Grinning, Javier suggests, “I’ll take you to try poutine. I’ll pay and everything.”

—

Yuzuru and Javier never get their poutine. On their way out of the club that day, they bump into Cortney coming to surprise Javier. Javier introduces the two of them, thinking that maybe they could all grab dinner together, but Yuzuru insists that Javier should spend the time with his girlfriend instead. He then does a strange impression of a cornered animal and all but runs out of the lobby.

Javier does go to dinner with Cortney, but his mind keeps wandering back to Yuzuru. He’s never seen such a false and brittle smile on the younger skater before. Yuzuru’s smile is the brightest part of him. It is childlike delight and genuine warmth, and what Javier saw today was wrong. In fact, the whole thing felt wrong. It was as if Javier had been dropped in the middle of scene that no one gave him the script for. Everything felt off like losing your axis in the middle of a jump, and for a second you no longer know where to land.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Cortney waves a hand in Javier’s face. “You seem a little spaced out.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired from training,” he lies.

—

Yuzuru’s abrupt exit was definitely weird, but Javier doesn’t exactly have any form of communication with him outside of training at the Cricket Club, and before Javier can decide what to say to him, Brian informs him that the other skater had already gone back to Japan to finish up school and prepare for ice shows. Javier ultimately pushes it out of his mind and throws himself into his training instead.

“That’s enough for now.” David claps his hands together in a finalizing sense. “The program’s coming along nicely.”

“Thank you, David,” Javier pants, stepping off the ice.

He checks his watch in between slipping on his blade guards. He has another hour before he needs to meet Cortney. That should be enough time to run through the step sequence by himself a few more times and shower.

Brian hands Javier a bottle of water. “Good work today.”

Javier nods his thanks and quickly gulps down half the bottle. He screws the cap back on. All of a sudden, he is struck by the thought that Yuzuru has probably been doing the same with his program on the other side of the world. They are all fighting their hardest to prepare for the oncoming season, for the distant promise of Sochi.

“Hey, Brian. Could I add a goal for this year?”

“I thought you said it was silly.” Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Changed my mind.” Javier shrugs.

“What is it?”

“I’m going to win Spain’s first Grand Prix gold.” Javier can’t quite hold back his grin, and he thinks that maybe Yuzuru was onto something. There’s something about saying this stuff out loud that’s borderline addicting.

“Javi, I love this side of you,” David teases. “So passionate.”

Brian grins and writes it down. “I like it.”

—

Javier makes it to the cafe only five minutes late. It’s a bit of a hole-in-the-wall with too many cork boards and garage band flyers. However, in addition to being hopelessly hipster, it’s also the perfect distance between Cortney and Javier’s respective training rinks. Cortney is an ice dancer, so she understands Javier’s hectic schedule since she has one of her own. They often find themselves there when they want to spend time together between practices.

Cortney is sitting at a table near the window. She has her training clothes on, and her long hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She hasn’t noticed Javier yet. Her light-brown eyes are studying something on the screen of her phone, and she’s biting at the edge of her thumbnail, her brow furrowed slightly. Javier finds her devastatingly pretty.

They met at the party of a mutual friend, and he was drawn to how she laughed in a way that invited everyone in the room to laugh with her. She was a glowing thing in a dim Toronto bar. He’d gotten her number, and within the next few days, they were at this coffee shop for their first date.

He was late then, too, and she claimed that she could only forgive Javier this terrible transgression if he bought both their drinks. Since then, it’s become a bit of an inside joke, and he does the same now.

He approaches the table with two coffees in hand and savors the welcoming smile she gives him. They swiftly fall into comfortable conversation.

“So you’ll be flying Japan tomorrow?” asks Cortney as she stirs her coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic.

“Yeah, at two,” Javier answers.

Cortney purses her lips. “I have training then. I won’t be able to see you off at the airport.”

“That’s fine.” Javier shrugs. This doesn’t come as a surprise to him. “I’ll call you after I land.”

“And after Japan, you’ll be going back to Spain. By the time we’re both in Toronto again, it’ll be competition season.” Cortney raises her eyebrows and takes a delicate sip of her drink.

“So?”

“So.” She sets the cup down and goes back to her incessant stirring. “We’re almost never in the same place, and even when we are, we’re both so busy all the time.”

Javier barely holds back his groan. They’ve had this discussion before, and there’s really no solution to it as long as they’re both skating competitively. He doesn’t see the point in rehashing it in the middle of a coffee shop the day before he’s about to go to a different country.

“Cortney, I know it’s hard, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.” Javier reaches out and stills the circular motion of her hand, forcing her to drop the spoon as he laces their fingers together.

She sighs, her shoulders sagging with the motion. “I know. I guess I’ve just been stressed lately. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He kisses the back of her hand, managing to pull a smile out of her. “We can talk more after I get back.”

“That’s assuming you make it to Japan in the first place. Are you sure you won’t be late and miss your flight entirely?” Cortney quips, pulling a laugh out of Javier.

This is more the Cortney that he’s used to. Flirtatious and cheerful. Not one for melancholic contemplations. That’s why they work. They are both light-hearted people. Javier doesn’t like to overthink and neither does Cortney.

The two of them spend another fifteen minutes messing around before Cortney really has to go. They part ways with a promise to text as much as possible and a kiss that tastes like vanilla latte. They’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not joking when I say that poutine actually looks like it might be cardiac arrest on a plate.
> 
> Anyway thank you for reading! We are starting off pretty slow in the off-season so hopefully this chapter wasn't too much of a drag. I also really appreciate the wonderful comments on the last chapter even though it was such a short snippet.


	3. threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic un-ironically named after lyrics from a Coldplay song: Japan, green tea ice cream, unexpected conversations, and making a choice.

As soon as Javier arrives in Nagoya for the ice show, it is busy, busy, busy. There is so much group choreography to be learned, and it takes Javier a while to get used to it, but it’s rewarding. Halfway through the second day, it goes from _‘everything hurts and I’m never going to get this’_ to _‘I can’t believe it’s all coming together and I’m a part of it.’_

Javier spends most of his time with the Shibutani siblings. Yuzuru is there, but he prefers to stick to the Japanese skaters, and Javier finds himself having to push down spikes of annoyance whenever he sees Yuzuru with them on the other side of the rink. Once, while Javier was glaring at the sight of Takahiko playing keep away with Yuzuru’s Pooh bear, Alex commented, “Dude, are you okay? You look constipated.”

He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help it. He spent almost two months trying to get Yuzuru to open up to him, and now he’s back to square one because Yuzuru obviously likes his teammates better than Javier, some random dude that he trains with occasionally. He doesn’t mean to sound so irredeemably bitter, but it’s the third day of rehearsals, and Javier still hasn’t gotten more than a few passing pleasantries from his rinkmate. He contemplates confronting Yuzuru when he’s approached by someone else.

A Japanese girl skates up next to him with an unopened bottle of water and the wide grin of someone young who has a secret. “Hello. I’m Kanako.”

Javier thanks her and takes the water. “I’m Javier.”

“Yes, I know all about you.” Kanako giggles.

“You do?” Javier asks, suspiciously.

Kanako opens her mouth, probably to say something incriminating if her grin is anything to go by, but she is interrupted by a frantic voice yelling her name from across the rink. This only sends her into another fit of giggles. Javier looks past her to see Yuzuru skating his way over in a panic.

“Kanako, stop it,” he chides, tagging on a couple sentences in Japanese as well.

The young girl doesn’t seem to care. She throws an arm around Yuzuru and says dramatically, “Oh, yes, we all know about Yuzu-kun’s new Canada friend. That all he talk about when come back. Javi did that. Javi said this.”

Yuzuru has apparently had enough of Kanako’s babbling and covers her mouth with his hand. He is blushing furiously at this point. “Please ignore her.”

“Okay.” Javier pauses, pretending to think really hard about this request. “I think I can ignore Kanako if that means you will stop ignoring me.”

Yuzuru releases Kanako and mumbles, “Not ignoring.”

“Yes, you are,” Kanako snaps back the moment her mouth is uncovered. The look of pure irritation in Yuzuru’s eyes indicates how much he probably regrets letting her go. “If not ignoring, then why not introduce us. I had to come do myself.”

“Javi has own friends. I don’t want bother.” Yuzuru chips at the ice with his toepick.

“You wouldn’t have been bothering me, Yuzuru,” Javier reassures before turning to Kanako and mustering up all the bravado he uses when playing knights and princesses with his niece. “And as for the lady here, my name is Javier Fernandez. You may or may not have heard of me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Javier goes as far as to bend over and kiss the back of her hand theatrically, triggering more giggles from the girl. She leans over to whisper some Japanese into Yuzuru’s ear that has the boy physically shoving her away.

“Bye bye, Javi,” Kanako calls back as she skates away.

“I am so sorry,” Yuzuru apologizes with a defeated air.

“It’s fine. She seems fun,” Javier waves off Yuzuru’s concern.

“She is silly.”

“But she’s still your friend,” Javier says to which Yuzuru nods reluctantly. “Are we okay? You did leave kind of weirdly.”

“Yes, sorry. I had bad week, and I act like baby. We are okay.” Yuzuru doesn’t quite look Javier in the eye, which makes him suspect that the younger skater is still hiding something, but he’s willing to let it go for now.

“Good, because I showed you around Toronto. Now it’s your turn to show me Japan.”

“I can do that,” says Yuzuru.

Soon they’re being called back to practice, but Javier can’t just let this golden opportunity slip through his fingers. “So you talked about me a lot, huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m going kill Kanako.” The red that was fading from Yuzuru’s cheeks is back with a vengeance.

Javier laughs and gently pulls Yuzuru back from going on a warpath. “No, don’t. I like her.”

“Of course you like her. You both mean to me,” Yuzuru whines.

The two of them keep up their banter through the rest of rehearsal. During one run, Javier slips in the opening sequence, and he is greeted by that ridiculous horse laugh. It’s almost as if the inexplicable awkwardness of their last goodbye never happened, and Javier sees his next two weeks in Japan as a hell of a lot more fun.

—

The event organizers arranged it so all of them would be eating lunch at a local restaurant before the first show. Javier snags a seat beside Yuzuru, which affords them a clear view of Maia and Mirai trying to get as many little paper balls into Charlie’s hair without him noticing. From Javier’s tally, they’ve managed at least five already.

Meanwhile, he and Yuzuru have their heads bent over a menu and the Japanese-English translator on Yuzuru’s phone, attempting to order Javier’s meal. It doesn’t take long for them to simply give up. Javier channels his inner twelve year old by taking Yuzuru’s phone and searching up Japanese curse words. He gleefully butchers the pronunciation of each, which has Yuzuru wheezing with laughter. When the waitress comes around to their side of the table, Javier has yet to make a single decision, and Yuzuru can’t catch his breath long enough to answer.

“What would you like, sir?”

“Uh, I don’t—I don’t know?” Javier stammers with a wince at how stupid he sounds.

Mao sighs from across the table and answers, “The laughing one would like number 35.” She then points a finger at Javier. “And the other one will have number 51.”

The waitress smiles awkwardly as she writes down the orders and gathers up their menus. Javier thanks her, but Mao just rolls her eyes and tells him, “You are children.”

Yuzuru gradually calms down. The first thing he does is take back his phone and punch Javier in the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?” Javier rubs at his bicep. How does that scrawny arm hit so hard?

“Don’t do that again. Embarrassing,” Yuzuru chides. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s still wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Javier finds it adorable.

He almost says this thought out loud but is saved from himself by Takahiko drawing Yuzuru into a conversation in rapid-fire Japanese. Javier shakes himself out of it and tunes into a squabble between Jeff and Jeremy over who uses chopsticks better.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Meryl says. Her placating tone is in complete contradiction with her conspiring smirk. “Would either of you care to put your money where your mouth is?”

That’s how Javier ends up as the holder of five dollars from each contestant. It was decided after a brief debate that he was the least biased party in their immediate vicinity. Meryl has a timer set for three minutes on her phone, and a plate of edamame has been pulled closer to Jeff and Jeremy.

“Ready… Set… Go!” Meryl declares, pressing start and watching with rapt attention as her plan for chaos comes to fruition.

Most of the table is now watching the two men try to get as many green pods into their plate as possible. It almost immediately devolves into sabotage. Nevertheless, the buzzer sounds to a chorus of heckling and cheers, and Jeremy emerges as the winner.

“Congratulations,” Javier says, handing the money to Jeremy.

The American takes it with a wink and immediately begins rubbing his victory in Jeff’s face to the amusement of everyone except Jeff. Javier glances down at his own chopsticks curiously.

Yuzuru notices and asks, “Would you like to learn?”

“Sure,” Javier responds because why the hell not? Who knows when the next time he’ll get to learn will be.

Yuzuru frees both their utensils from their paper trappings and goes about explaining the mechanics of it to Javier as best he can. Javier tries to understand but is quickly confused by the number of fingers involved and Yuzuru’s utterly unhelpful metaphors. Yuzuru just laughs at Javier’s struggles and reaches out every once in awhile to physically correct him. After ten minutes and a team effort, Javier manages to get one edamame bean from the center plate into his own without dropping it. Yuzuru claps for him politely, and Javier pretends to take bows.

Finally, the waiting staffs comes in bearing plates and bowls of food, and Javier’s stomach audibly growls at the delicious smells.

“Use chopsticks?” Yuzuru asks.

“Nope, I am too hungry for that.” Javier brandishes his fork proudly.

The conversation lulls into a low chatter in favor of eating. It’s comfortable and easy. After the week of rehearsals, they’ve gotten to know each other, and it’s nice to do something all together outside of the rink. Javier looks down either side of the long table and hears the joy and the mischief, and for a moment—only a single moment—it reminds him of his family reunions back in Spain; the long table laden heavy with food and the people talking and teasing freely.

At the end of their meal, Yuzuru plops a small bowl with a metal spoon in front of Javier.

“What is this?” Javier asks.

“Green tea ice cream.” Yuzuru smiles widely, the way he does after he nails a particularly difficult element.

“Hell no.” Javier pushes away the bowl, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to eat bitter leaf ice cream.”

Yuzuru wrinkles his nose, not quite understanding all of Javier’s words. “Is good. Promise.”

“Nope. No way.”

Yuzuru regards Javier with a cool look and turns to whisper something to Kanako, making her break into uncontrollable giggles.

Javier glares. “What did you say to her?”

The teenager smirks, and Javier almost wants to shelter him from view. Someone who looks so harmless and adorable should not be able to pull off casual arrogance as well.

“I say Javi scared.”

“I am not scared,” Javier says affronted.

“Really? Then why not try?” Yuzuru tilts his chin defiantly and arches his brows.

Javier narrows his eyes. He should do the mature thing and let the threat of a challenge drop. He’s twenty-one. He shouldn’t be allowing a teenage boy to manipulate him so easily. It’s an obvious ploy to get him to try the ice cream, but there is something about Yuzuru that just gets to Javier.

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Javier shovels a scoop of ice cream into his mouth to the soundtrack of  
Kanako’s giggles. “Happy?”

“Yes.” Yuzuru rests his chin in his hands, looking way too satisfied with himself, and gestures between Javier and the dessert. “Good?”

Javier pokes at the green lump despondently and swallows the bite along with his pride. “Yeah.”

This makes Yuzuru laugh, high and clear as a bell, as he pats the top of Javier’s head. Javier just sighs and finishes his ice cream in defeated silence. He’s man enough to take his loss with dignity. Delicious, green tea flavored dignity.

Somewhere from the left end of the table Charlie exclaims, “Wait! How long has this been in my hair?”

—

It isn’t fair because Javier falls into the same trap later that night at the finale. Yuzuru comes up next to him and tells him to do a quad sal. Javier tries to deny the request, but then Yuzuru nails him with that piercing stare again and asks, “Why? Are you scared?”

As he skates, his blades cutting soundlessly into the ice, Javier thinks, _“It must be the eyes.”_

There is something about Yuzuru’s eyes. It doesn’t matter if he is laughing until he cries or projecting his unique brand of intensity. His eyes are always true. They are genuine and sincere the way few things are these days.

Javier lands to the cheer of the crowds, and then Yuzuru is also skating out. The boy pulls his arms in and spins. One. Two. Three. Four.

Before he can do more than open his arms, all five-foot something of Yuzuru slams into him in a bruising hug. Yuzuru pumps his fist into the air and shouts something that Javier can’t hear over the music and the adrenaline in his veins. Javier cheers for Yuzuru, for himself, for all of them. Yuzuru pulls back, and his eyes are the type of things people write poetry about. They are determined and passionate. They are open skies and how summer feels when you’re a kid.

It has to be the eyes.

—

They’re on the bus on their way to Nikko. Javier has claimed a window seat toward the back and passively watches as the Japanese countryside flies by. It always kind of blows his mind to see how smoothly the world can shift from a loud and colorful city center to a soft and tranquil town, from neons and a sea of gray to pastels and shades of green.

“Mind if I sit here?” Jeff asks, swaying with the motion of the bus and pointing at the seat next to Javier.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He quickly puts his backpack on the floor to make room for Jeff in fear that the bus may hit a pothole, and the older man’s subsequent fall in the aisle would wake up all their sleeping companions. Usually, Javier is out like a light as soon as these trips start, but there was something particularly soothing about watching the passing scenery today.

“Thanks,” Jeff whispers as he drops into the seat. “Mervin wheezes in his sleep. There was only so much I could take.”

Javier chuckles. So that’s what he was hearing earlier.

“Ready for the season to start?” The Canadian is one of those rare people who asks questions about others and actually cares about the answer.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Javier jokes.

“Yuzuru is also going to be training with Brian now, right?”

Javier nods.

Jeff chuckles quietly, mindful of Takahiko sleeping across the aisle. “That’s going to be a crazy rink.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re both up-and-coming skaters. Not to mention the Olympics next season and the beginning of this whole quad revolution.” Jeff stretches out his legs with a sigh. “Makes me glad I’m retired really.”

Javier hums noncommittally. He can’t think of anything to respond with, and Jeff doesn’t seem to expect much of one. Jeff pulls out a notebook, and Javier returns to his window view. Somehow, it’s not as soothing as it was five minutes ago.

—

Here’s the thing. Before this year, Javier didn’t even do full runs in practice half the time. He still shows up to the Cricket Club late occasionally. It’s not that Javier doesn’t love figure skating or that he doesn’t want to win, but he isn’t always the most motivated.

It might be a defense mechanism—it’s definitely terrible, whatever it is—but it gives Javier an excuse. Sure, losing feels like shit, and Javier hates it, but on some level he can almost point at his own less than perfect practices and say that’s where he faltered. Javier is honestly terrified of what might happen if he did put in his full effort only to come up short and receive some final confirmation that he just isn’t good enough.

And Jeff’s comments? They reminded him of all this. The men’s field is changing faster than most can keep up with. It’s as if Javier has been standing on a precipice for years now and behind him is a rushing something and soon he’s going to have to make the choice of either stepping down or taking the leap. Javier isn’t ashamed to admit that from some angles the rushing thing looks a hell of a lot like Yuzuru.

Yuzuru is everything Javier isn’t. A little too reckless, a little too stubborn. More than willing to throw himself off the cliff in the slight chance that he might fly. And Javier is only Javier. He wants to win. He’s hungry for it to the point where he’s said it to Brian and even Yuzuru, but he doesn’t know if he can keep up with all this. He’s scared to find out what losing after you’ve delivered them your heart on a platter feels like. That’s the big difference between Yuzuru and Javier. Javier might be the more outgoing one, but when it comes to ice skating, Yuzuru is the bravest person he has ever met.

—

Javier learns while in Japan that Yuzuru Hanyu is a complete dork. In a familiar place and without the pressures of training, the younger skater is downright goofy. They’re getting warmed up for the show, and Javier is standing next to Mao when Yuzuru—the little twerp—showers them both in a spray of ice before skating off again. Mao shouts something at him in Japanese that has Yuzuru pulling a face at her while cackling.

Javier shakes the ice off his boots and comments, “You guys really treat him like a little brother.”

“Yeah, he’s annoying.” Mao grins as if she were sharing some secret joke with Javier. Then she purses her lips with a sudden seriousness as she inspects Yuzuru’s silhouette taking jump after jump. “Didn’t always be like that.”

“What do you mean?” asks Javier.

Mao turns to face him with a sad smile. “You do nine shows with The Ice this year, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yuzu did sixty shows last summer.”

Javier feels his jaw drop. “What? Why?”

“He had no rink after disaster. Not all Japanese skaters attend same shows, but anyone who did shows in summer did with Yuzu for sure. He used venue rink as home rink for off season. After that...” Mao shrugs. Not a _‘no big deal’_ shrug. More of a helpless _‘what can you say’_ shrug.

And what can you say? It’s not hard to imagine why the older Japanese skaters have taken him in. It also explains a lot. Why Yuzuru treats practice time so preciously. Why he does quads and runs of his choreography when he has the rink to himself.

Javier stares at Yuzuru messing around in the distance, his laughter as light and cheerful as ever. At the same time, it doesn’t explain anything at all.

—

Yuzuru has taken his duties as Javier’s tour guide very seriously. The two of them are wandering the streets of Osaka, and Yuzuru is trying his best to provide a commentary. Javier helps by pointing at random signs and asking for an explanation. Japan seems to be very into billboards and bizarre marketing strategies. Javier doesn’t get most of them, but he does get a kick out of it.

Javier thinks that Osaka looks great at night. It is everything a metropolis should be. The skyscrapers soar to the heavens until they are nothing but faraway points of light. The sidewalk that is a drab gray during the day is now dyed white-and-pink, blue-and-red, green-and-purple by the dazzling signs. The entire rainbow makes its home on the cityscape, a graffiti that is always shifting and lasts only for the night.

Yuzuru glances at Javier out of the corner of his eye. “What you do after show over?”

 _“Oh yeah,”_ Javier thinks. _“We just did our last show.”_

These two weeks of exploring Japan and messing around with new friends isn’t his normal life. This has been an excursion from reality where Yuzuru slowly became Yuzu and Javier’s days were filled with performances and cheering crowds and billboard games. He sincerely hopes that he’ll be invited to more of these in the future, but at the same time, he knows that it’s only been an escape, a brief reprieve before the competition season kicks off again.

“I’m going back to Spain for a bit. It’ll be nice to see my family again.”

“And next time you go Spain, you bring gold medal.” Yuzuru is smiling smugly at him.

“Yes, yes.” Javier rolls his eyes. Since he told Yuzuru about his newest goal, the Japanese skater has been insufferable about it.

“I am excited for new season.”

Javier makes a noise that could maybe be taken for agreement. He thinks back to his conversation on the bus, and he is apprehensive of what changes this year might bring.

“I will win gold.” Yuzuru stares straight ahead with that stubborn tilt to his chin as if he could see the podium among the masses of downtown Osaka.

It’s enough to make Javier forget about his own worries momentarily. “No way. I won’t be making it that easy for you.”

“Is promise?” Yuzuru stops walking with a look in his eyes that is pure energy, ambition in its truest form.

“It’s a challenge. Bring your best, Yuzu.” Javier smirks and raises his left hand in a closed fist.

“I will.” Yuzuru taps their knuckles together. “See you in Toronto?”

Yuzuru is a teenage boy made of laughter and wind-clap, wildfire and lightning, who makes dramatic declarations of his intentions in the middle of crowded sidewalks, who doesn’t believe in limits and knows how to trick Javier into abandoning them as well. He is an unstoppable force, and Javier is swept up by it all. Strangely, Javier doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t mind seeing where this will take him, where Yuzuru will take him.

“See you in Toronto.”

Javier takes the leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you for reading! I don't have many thoughts to share this week. Just I'm astounded that people are reading this and seem to enjoy it so I will do my best to not disappoint.


	4. the leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in "lol what is pacing": Spain, souvenirs, warm tea, rituals, and the science behind human connection.

Javier walks side-by-side with his sister through the flea market, their arms linked together at the elbows like they’ve done since they were waist-high. He doesn’t particularly care for these open market type things, but Laura’s always loved them, and he is simply satisfied with strolling down Spanish streets again.

It’s not exactly Madrid, but after spending the first week with his parents, Laura invited him to visit her in Barcelona for his last few days. Sometimes Javier almost forgets how much he misses Spain until he’s back, and he just gazes and gazes upon the city, drinking it all in. The earth-toned buildings, the iron wrought terraces, the narrow alleys with winding stone stairs, the colorful umbrellas standing guard over every storefront.

This time, however, Javier’s idle musings have taken a whimsical turn. What would it be like to have children streaming in and out of Javier’s old rink? What might it look like to have an ice rink right on the corner there? Wouldn’t it be nice to see banners advertising the Grand Prix Final hanging from the lamp posts? How would Spain add its own flair to an ISU Championship?

Javier is disrupted by Laura slipping her arm out of his and rushing off. “Look, Javi! These are so cute!”

He subtly rolls his eyes and follows her lead. It’s always been like that, Laura rushing ahead to some new, exciting thing and Javier trailing a couple steps behind. The booth table is draped in a cloth like rust with an assortment of handmade jewelry strewn across. From what Javier can tell, there’s no real organization to it. Rings encroaching on the territory of bracelets. Necklaces fighting the rings for dominance. They are nicely made though, and Laura’s always had a fondness for useless trinkets.

“They’re okay,” Javier says although he doubts Laura hears him over the conversation with the seller, sounding every bit like their own mother at the stores.

He lets Laura coo over the bracelets in peace and wanders to a rack of key chains at the corner of the table. He absentmindedly runs a hand along the pendants. They are tiny paintings and drawings trapped beneath domes of glass and bound by metal frames. There are flowers and oceans, city scenes and constellations. Pretty basic stuff for these artisan markets.

Then a pendant hanging on the second row grabs his attention. Plucking it off the shelf, he brings it eye level and is greeted by an image of Winnie the Pooh set to a checkered yellow background. Javier smiles to himself. He can’t wait to see Yuzuru’s face.

“How much for this?” Laura asks, dangling a bracelet of intricately twisted metals from her finger.

“Five euros, _Señorita_ ,” the shopkeeper answers.

Javier steps up and stays Laura’s hand when she reaches for her wallet. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay.”

“Javi,” Laura begins to protest, but he won’t hear any of it.

“Just let me be a good little brother for once, okay?”

“Okay.”

She loops her arm through his again and squeezes lightly. His tough older sister doesn’t like to admit it but he knows that she misses him, too. They’re made differently in a sense. Javier feels no need to hide his emotions, but Laura has always tried to put on some sort of straight face and refused to show the world any weakness.

“And this as well.” Javier drops the key chain next to Laura’s bracelet.

“Winnie the Pooh?” Laura questions, raising an eyebrow. “Since when were you into this stuff?”

Javier chuckles as he hands the money to the shopkeeper. “I’m not, but Yuzuru has that silly Pooh tissue cover. I thought I’d get it for him.”

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head, studying Javier. "You know you’ve talk about Yuzuru more than you’ve talk about Cortney this whole trip?"

"Have I?" Javier shrugs and accepts the paper bag handed to him with a polite smile. "Well, I was just with him in Japan, and he’s a weird kid."

"A weird kid, huh?" Laura is amused. Most people wouldn't be able to tell, but Javier has known her too long for that. She is pressing her lips together which means that she is trying not to smile.

"What?" Javier pokes her cheek. He’s starting to get annoyed with Laura's vague judgement.

She swats away his hand and shoots Javier a withering look that informs Javier exactly how much his sister thinks he is a fool. "Are you sure that's the only reason you’re buying him a gift?"

"It’s just a souvenir, Laura. It’s not a big deal." Javier scowls. Laura might be his big sister, but that doesn’t mean she knows everything.

"Never mind then." She shakes her head like she's given up. It makes Javier feel as if he is missing some bigger picture, and he doesn't like it.

"Whatever. Let's go home. I've got an early flight tomorrow."

—

“Here. This is for you.” Javier tosses the key chain to Yuzuru at Monday’s practice.

“Me?” Yuzuru snaps out a hand just in time to catch it. He opens his palm and throws his head back laughing.

“Thought you’d like it. Saw it in Barcelona, and it reminded me of you.” He finishes tying his boots and tries to skate towards Yuzuru but is quickly accosted by a different menace.

“Are we doing presents?” Nam shouts as he comes barreling into Javier’s side, knocking the wind right out of him. “Where’s mine?”

“Why would you get one?” Javier wheezes.

“What? How come Yuzuru is the only one with a present?” Nam instantly releases him and pouts.

Nam barely comes up to Javier’s shoulder. He has boundless energy and no brain-to-mouth filter. In every way that matters, he is very much so a young boy.

“I did gifts for everyone last time, you greedy brat,” Javier teases, trapping Nam into a headlock.

His ensuing screams for help are enough to draw Elene over. It’s not often that all of them will be at the Cricket Club but with four skaters between junior and senior levels competing in the Grand Prix Series this year and two in the same category, Brian requested that they go over the logistics of their event placements.

“It’s cute,” Elene comments, inspecting the key chain in Yuzuru’s hand.

“Looks like Pooh-san.” Yuzuru turns the charm so Elene could better see the resemblance.

“Oh, it does.”

“Can someone help me?” Nam squeals, struggling in Javier’s hold.

“Javi, let him go.”

Elene has her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. If she weren’t wearing her skates right now, she’d probably be tapping her foot impatiently. She's always kind of reminded him of Laura. There’s something in the angle of their shoulders that tells the world they know exactly what they are worth.

“Okay.” Javier abruptly unlocks his arms and lets Nam’s own momentum propel him backwards.

“Ow, that hurt!” Nam complains from the floor.

“Elene said to let go.”

The woman in question just rolls her eyes and starts skating away. “Since Javier is finally here, we should go talk to Brian.”

“Javi is a bully.” Nam sticks his tongue out at Javier and scrambles to his feet.

Nam quickly catches up to Elene and immediately begins talking her ear off. He’s chattering so loudly that Javier almost doesn’t hear the quiet ‘thank you’ from behind him.

Javier turns and is stunned. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Yuzuru look quite so soft. He doesn’t know how else to describe it. Yuzuru is smiling, turning his eyes into crescent moons—which is nothing new—but those eyes are now warm chocolates and butterscotch, melting and sweet. He has both hands cradled around that silly key chain as if it were actually something infinitely precious. Gone is the burning ambition and the wild laugh. The storm is still yet just as dangerous because it makes Javier feel as if the world were nothing but the two of them.

Yuzuru bows and intones once more. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Javier mumbles.

Then someone is beckoning them to Brian’s office, and the moment is over. As they skate away, Yuzuru tucks the key chain into his pocket, and Javier longs to know what it would take to get that smile directed at him again.

—

Brian walks out of his office visibly stressed. He stalks by where Javier is diligently packing away his boots and doesn’t even seem to notice his student there.

“Hey, Brian, you okay?”

The coach jumps at Javier’s voice. Apparently, he really didn’t see Javier at all. Brian sighs and rubs at his forehead. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Javier points out.

“Well, Yuzuru hasn’t been able to get on the ice all week and the Finlandia Trophy is in less than a month,” Brian explains.

“What? Why?” Javier makes an aborted motion to stand up. This is the first time he’s hearing about this.

All of a sudden, Brian looks impossibly tired. The frantic energy leaves him, and he just looks deflated. “He had a really bad asthma attack. He’s been struggling with that recently, but we’ve been trying to keep a low profile about it.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s starting to get some strength back.” Brian raises the green pocket folder. “I prepared some off-ice training exercises that he can start doing. I was going to go drop it off for him.”

“I can do it,” Javier offers before he can stop himself.

“Are you sure?” Brian regards Javier warily.

“Yeah, I’m heading home anyway. I can stop by his place.”

Leaning down to close his suitcase, Javier tries to keep his tone casual as if he weren’t incredibly worried to hear this news about his friend. Brian hesitates. He would probably rather check up on Yuzuru himself, but Javier knows that Brian has another class to teach this afternoon, and it would be easier for the coach to just let him run the errand.

“Okay then.” Brian gives Javier the folder. “I can text you the address. Thank you, Javi.”

“No problem.”

Within fifteen minutes, Javier and the green folder are in a subway car en route to Yuzuru’s apartment. He hangs one hand from the overhead bars and sways gently. Javier knows that Yuzuru has asthma, but he didn’t think it would be bad enough to keep him from practice for a whole week.

He watches the other passengers. An old lady is scrunched up in one of those stupidly hard seats with a handbag bigger than her head. A boy has earbuds in and taps his fingers to a beat that only he can hear. Two friends gossip excitedly between themselves with a lot of hand waving and wide eyes.

It’s bizarre. Everyone in that car has their own life that Javier isn’t privy to, and they don’t know anything about him either. Javier trains with Yuzuru, and he didn’t even realize that the other boy was out for a week. He had just assumed their sessions weren’t coinciding and left it at that. It’s _bizarre_. When are you allowed to say you know someone? Is it even possible to know every single thing about another person?

The subway screeches to a stop, and all these intersecting yet never connecting lines of people stream out as if from the belly of a great whale. Javier follows, dragging his suitcase behind him, and studies the map pulled up on his phone. It takes some maneuvering and doubling back, especially in Javier’s distracted state, but he makes it to Yuzuru’s home.

He hovers awkwardly in front of the cream-colored door. Eventually, he steels his nerves and knocks. Javier doesn’t know what he was expecting, but somehow he didn’t think it would be Yuzuru’s mother answering the door. Javier’s met her before—once where she asked that Javier call her Yumi instead of Mrs. Hanyu because she insisted that it sounded even weirder than being called by only her first name. Since then it’s just been shadows of her in the lobby after Yuzuru’s practices.

“Javier. Hello,” she says, the shock evident in her voice. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, I’m here to drop off something from Brian.” Javier clears his throat as familiar dark eyes blink up at him curiously. “For Yuzuru.”

“Ah yes, I forget,” Yumi mutters, opening the door. “Come in. Please.”

Javier steps inside the Hanyu home and pulls the folder out of the front pocket of his suitcase. “I’ll just give this to you. I won’t bother you for long.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she reassures him, disappearing around the corner.

Javier doesn’t know if he’s meant to follow her. His gaze drops to the neat line of shoes by the end of the entrance. Should he take off his shoes? After a bit of panicked wavering, Javier toes off his shoes and follows Yumi into the rest of the apartment. He almost bumps into her as she leaves the kitchenette with a mug in hand.

“Here.” She holds the mug out to Javier. “I make tea for him. Yuzu in room on left of hall. Maybe see friend will cheer up.”

He nods mutely and takes the mug. It smells vaguely of ginger and some other earthy scent. Heading towards the directed room, a wry smile makes it onto Javier’s lips. Yuzuru has probably been nigh unbearable after being kept off the ice for all these days.

Javier knocks before carefully opening the door. Yuzuru is curled up in bed, black frame glasses sliding down his nose and a book balanced across his knees. He says something in Japanese without looking up.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m afraid I still don’t speak Japanese,” Javier jokes.

Yuzuru’s head snaps up. “Javi!” The rest of his sentence is swiftly swallowed by loud, grating coughs.

“Wow, that sounds bad.” Javier grimaces in sympathy. He places the tea onto his bedside table and sits onto the bed right below where Yuzuru has his feet pulled towards his torso. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yuzuru croaks after his coughing fit subsides.

“Brian wanted me to give you this.” Javier holds up the folder, and Yuzuru all but snatches it out of his hand. Javier shakes his head in exasperation as the other boy’s eyes dart across the pages.

Yuzuru chews on his bottom lip and looks torn. “I want to skate.”

Sometimes Javier just doesn’t understand Yuzuru. Here he is bedridden with lungs that wheeze like a broken accordion, and the only thing he wants is to get back to practice.

“Well, you got to get better first.” Javier ruffles his hair lightly.

Yuzuru closes the folder decisively and says, “Next week. I will be back. Thank you for papers, Javi.”

“You’re welcome.” Javier smiles back helplessly at Yuzuru with his rumpled hair and his stupid stubbornness. “Don’t work too hard, and drink your mom’s tea.”

Yuzuru makes a small pleased noise as he curls his fingers around the warm ceramic. He mutters another thanks into the mug. Those stunningly melting eyes are back, and they warm Javier better than any tea possibly could.

“I should go,” Javier says. He’s reluctant to break the peace that has settled over them, but he does need to get home soon.

It takes some argument to convince Yuzuru that Javier doesn’t need to be shown out and that, really, it would be best for Yuzuru to just stay in bed. Javier leaves, mindful of closing the door as silently as possible. He pops his head into the kitchenette to say goodbye to Yumi, and the older woman smiles at Javier in that manner so natural to mothers.

“Please come to dinner one day,” Yumi invites.

“I’d love to,” Javier answers, warm and grinning.

—

Javier glides in a slow semi-circle with his hands on his hips. He hangs his head and holds a staring contest with the ice until his eyes water, holding back a yell of frustration. He’s not landing his jumps. His spins are off. He straight up forgot chunks of his choreography. Not to mention, he’s in a horrid mood because he’d had another argument with Cortney.

That is, if you can even call what they do arguing. The two of them get increasingly passive aggressive towards each other before it turns to snapping and then someone leaves in a fit. In the past month, they’ve been having these “arguments” with increasing frequency. Javier gets it. The first competitions of the season are right around the corner. Plus, Cortney’s switched partners again this year, and they still aren’t matching each other’s styles the way they need to. Stress is inevitable, but lately it seems like Javier can’t do anything right according to her.

“Maybe we should just end here for today,” Brian suggests.

Javier glances at his watch. He still has around an hour of practice scheduled. This is what they’d done in the past if Javier was having a bad day. They’d end early, and Javier would take the time to regroup before coming back. He almost agrees today as well, but then he thinks about how he saw Yuzuru yesterday with his whistling breaths and a face mask on, doing run after run despite his obvious exhaustion.

He shakes his head. “No, let’s keep going.”

“Okay then. Take it from the top.” Brian raises both eyebrows but doesn't further comment on his student’s behavior.

Javier skates to the center of the rink and waits for the music to begin. He takes a couple deep breaths, clearing his mind of all his troubles until there’s nothing left except him and the rink.

He knows these programs. He chose the music and worked with David on the choreography. He’s been running them over and over again trying to get them perfect. He’s reminded of something Brian said to him when he first switched to Canada. The Cricket Club can give him the tools he needs to win, but ultimately it’s up to him to perform it. Well, this is him making a choice. He can be better than this. He needs to be better than this if he wants to win.

—

Finland is a country that Javier forgets about sometimes. Not as often as he forgets about those tiny ones in and around the Mediterranean, but it’s not a place that Javier thinks about regularly. However, as small and forgettable as Finland may be, the Finlandia Trophy becomes a place rife with discovery.

On the flight to Espoo, Brian goes over their schedule for the next few days in detail and sends a picture of it to Yuzuru and Javier. During the official training days, Javier takes the chance to memorize the ice beneath his skates and the distance to the audience since both his programs depend so heavily on that connection. On the day of the short program, Javier learns that he needs to work on his triple axel combination. On the day of the long program, he decides that he should spend more time polishing his edges in the step sequence if he really wants to get the witty energy of Charlie Chaplin down.

Brian wants the Finlandia Trophy to be a dry run for when the two of them will have to attend larger competitions together, and it is. They get used to each other in a competitive environment, and they know what they’ll need to work on before their Grand Prix assignments. But Javier also learns much more than what Brian probably expected.

See, Javier kind of loves people. He fundamentally dislikes loneliness, so he makes it a point to surround himself with them, with the bursts of life scattered across this 7-billion globe. Sometimes people spark like livewires, and sometimes it’s like the wrong ends of a magnet. Javier doesn’t pretend to understand the science behind human connection. He doesn’t know when you are allowed to officially declare that you know someone or if it is indeed possible to know everything about them, but he certainly likes to try.

On the flight to Espoo, Javier finds out that Yuzuru owns more headphones and earbuds than Javier owns shoes when the teenager pulls out pair after pair from his backpack. During the official training days, Javier is reminded that Yuzuru is a hopeless fan of Johnny Weir as his training mate refuses to stop gushing about being at the same competition as his idol. Javier's not quite sure how he ever forgot that fact between the free program song and costume choice. On the day of the short program, he learns that Yuzuru is more superstitious than Javier’s Roman Catholic _abuela_ who lives out in the villages of Catalon. There’s the Pooh bear and the necklaces, the crossing over his chest and the handshakes. It’s a lot of rituals for one person. On the day of the long program, Javier asks him about it.

“Why do you do all that?”

They’re hanging around the venue and waiting for the men’s event to start. They have commandeered two arm chairs in the lounge, alternating between chatting about useless things and taking silly pictures. Javier can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, and that alone almost makes up for the aching ribs and the sheer amount of photographic blackmail Yuzuru now has of Javier.

Yuzuru pauses in the middle of rubbing his plushy’s face. “Do what?”

“That.” Javier waves vaguely in the direction of Winnie the Pooh. “And the necklace and the crossing yourself. All of it.”

Yuzuru sets his precious Pooh-san into his bag and shifts his body so he’s sitting closer to Javier. He stares down at his bracelets, running an index finger under the elastic.

“I get really nervous,” he confesses. “I think too much, too loud. First national competition, was so excited got nosebleed.”

Javier doesn’t quite succeed at suppressing his bark of laughter, but Yuzuru’s lips turn up at the corner as well so it’s probably okay. Yuzuru taps the pendant hanging from his neck. “Helps keep me focus. They don’t change so I can count on them. Can think about instead of other stupid things.”

“That’s smart,” says Javier, and he really does think so. It’s methodic and systematic, but it certainly is one way. Javier distracts himself with conversation and other people instead.

“I am really smart.” Yuzuru grins, nudging Javier with his elbow.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Javier agrees indulgently. He stands, pulling Yuzuru along with him. “C’mon, genius. We have to find Brian.”

Yuzuru ends up winning gold. Javier gets bronze. He’s happy for his friend. If anything, he’s invigorated. Finland was like going to the beach for the first time after long winter months, and it takes your body a second to remember that it knows how to swim. Javier's always been a bit slow to wake up, but he feels more than ready to tackle the rest of the season now.

Javier doesn’t claim to know anything about the science behind human connection. But if he had to put it into words, then he would say that Yuzuru Hanyu is a shooting star or maybe a whirlwind, something swift and temporary. Here one second and gone the next, and Javier wants to try chasing him, to try catching him.

—

“Did you know that Kent is only 19 miles away from Seattle?” Javier recites the fact off his phone, sprawling his arms out in front of Yuzuru on the table while the other skater studiously reads.

“No, is important?” Yuzuru flips a page, unfazed by Javier’s ploy for attention. He’s had a lot of practice with that recently.

“You’ll be going there for Skate America. You should go to Seattle after the competition.” Javier plucks the book away and sets it out of Yuzuru’s reach.

Yuzuru resigns himself to this fate and regards Javier with crossed arms and an air of exasperation. “But why?”

“It’ll be fun. You could go sightseeing.”

Yuzutu stares blankly at him.

“Sightseeing? Like going out into the city and stuff. You’re staying almost a full day after the event. You could probably take a bus to Seattle.”

“Too much work,” Yuzuru dismisses.

Javier rolls his eyes. “How do you know if you don’t try? Take your mom with you and just chill. Promise you’ll give it a shot at least.”

“Promise,” Yuzuru grumbles, avoiding eye contact. “Can have my book?”

“I don’t believe you,” Javier says plainly. “You’re just saying that. You’re not actually going to do anything.”

Yuzuru purses his lips in response, which means Javier hit the nail on the head, so Javier tries a different tactic. “Give me your phone.”

“What? No.” Yuzuru side-eyes the outstretched hand.

“Just trust me.”

After a brief stand-off, Yuzuru gives in and places his phone into Javier’s hand.

“What are you doing?” The younger skater does his best impression of a giraffe, stretching his neck out to catch a glimpse of what his friend is typing.

“Patience,” Javier says, fully aware that telling Yuzuru to be patient is like telling a fish to fly. Nevertheless, his thumbs work quickly and he turns the phone around to show Yuzuru a newly-added contact under the name Javi. “Take a picture of yourself in Seattle and send it to me. Then I’ll believe you.”

Yuzuru sighs, rather over-dramatically in Javier’s opinion. He leans back and crosses his arms again. His eyebrows are furrowed delicately, and he looks perfectly perplexed like when someone uses an English word that he doesn’t understand.

Finally, he takes his phone and stares down at the saved contact. “You are weird, but can try. Only if not too tired after.”

Javier considers this endeavor a success when, during practice next week, he receives a photo from Yuzuru and a text saying, _“Seattle is very rainy!”_

In the photo, Yuzuru is standing in front of the Seattle tower and flashing peace signs at the camera. The clouds behind him are indeed dreary and drizzling, but he is beaming brighter than any midday sun could possibly hope. Javier makes sure to set it as his contact photo before returning to the ice.

—

It isn't long after Yuzuru’s return from America but some time before Javier is supposed to go to Skate Canada. He's in the main break room, munching on a protein bar and catching up on the stupid telenovela that Laura got him hooked on.

He's a little too absorbed in the catty arguments and the plot line that fades in and out on whim, so he doesn't notice Yuzuru and Nam enter. He doesn't know what compelled him to look up at that exact moment, but he does. He sees Nam lean in to observe whatever game Yuzuru is playing on his DS and Yuzuru automatically shift so there's more space between him and the younger boy.

Javier catches all this, and even though neither of the two involved in the scene seem to care, Javier rather eloquently thinks, _"Oh."_ Somehow between the ice show in Japan and the Finlandia Trophy, Yuzuru's considerably large personal bubble no longer exists for Javier, and now Javier is grinning like a loon because he kind of feels like he's won a prize. In a place thousands of miles away from home, the dorky yet talented skater from Japan is most comfortable around Javier? He definitely feels like he's won something.

By the time Javier stops staring stupidly and goes back to his show, a huge plot twist has been revealed, but he's too distracted to keep up with the convoluted reasonings. He finally gives up after a couple more minutes.

Instead, he says, "Yuzu, I think they just cleared the ice. Wanna race?"

Yuzuru snaps to attention at the word race and grins wickedly. "Five laps."

"Let's go."

As the two of them leave the room, Javier throws an arm across Yuzuru's shoulders, and the other boy doesn't shrug it off, doesn't even pause in his rambling about his new game. It’s no longer a strange thing for them to be found arm in arm, and Javier feels pretty damn special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally entering competition season and I've hereby elected to omit all actual skating from the event *shrugs* I decided to leave descriptions of programs and such for the Grand Prix series and just skim over the Finlandia Trophy. I've been trying to do like a chapter a week type thing but usually I have a good 50% maybe more of the next one written out already. That is not the case here. I also need to figure out how I'm gonna structure competition arcs so bear with me please!
> 
> (Also 4CC I'm gonna die. It's either going to be an amazing, mind-blowing event or a dumpster fire and I am not ready.)


	5. learning curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in Javier's growing amazement of Yuzuru: gold medals, lost in translation, puns, and living.

A silence falls over the arena. Except, it’s not silent. Not at all. There is the rink music and the audience, the chattering of other skaters and coaches, but Javier doesn’t hear any of it as he laps around the rink. He fills his lungs with that frigid air, and the space between the announcement of the last scores and his own name stretches out into an eternity.

When they were first discussing the music for the season, Javier was being about as helpful as he usually was, shrugging and repeatedly saying, “I don’t know.”

Eventually, David got fed up and snapped, “You have to start making some of your own choices when it comes to skating, Javi.” He pointed at Tracy. “What characteristics do you associate with Javier?”

Tracy jerked her head a bit, not expecting such a strange question to be directed at her. She shoved her hands into her pocket and cleared her throat. “Friendly and laid-back I suppose. When he skates well, it’s charming and it connects with you.”

“Good.” David nodded, turning back to Javier who felt a bit thrown off. Tracy had never said that stuff to him before. “Then that’s what we look for in music.”

“Chaplin,” Brian muttered, thinking out loud. “What about Chaplin?”

“Yes, exactly!” David exclaimed. He grinned and patted Javier’s back. “We'll make a showman of you yet.”

“Javier Fernandez!” a sonorous voice calls out through the stadium speakers.

He loops around to the center. The nerves, both good and bad, tingle the base of his scalp. He looks out into the audience and nods as if answering some unasked question. The music starts and he skates.

—

Javier’s afraid that not much coherent thought goes on as he stands at the top of the podium with a gold medal hanging around his neck. It’s pretty much just a litany of _“dios mio”_ and _“oh shit,”_ sparingly interspersed with _“I can't believe I did it”_ and _“I hope I don’t trip.”_

It all feels very out-of-body, and Javier doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He has to remind himself that the podium beneath him is real, that the medal is real, that it is all so very real. It is the fruition of a year in the making. Moving to Toronto and to Brian was never easy. It involved breaking the worst of his habits and forming new ones, and in the monotony of day-by-day training, you forget what exactly you’re training for. Javier doesn’t think he will ever forget this.

He faces the flashing lights and the looming dark mass that is the audience and raises his bouquet.

—

Javier didn’t even notice until Elene points it out during breakfast. She pokes the air in front of Javier’s face with her yogurt spoon and says, “Brian, I think we might need to get Javi a new jacket soon. He’s been adopted by the Japanese skaters.”

Brian responds immediately as if this were nothing out of the ordinary, “I don’t think the Spanish Skating Federation would like that very much, and their president scares me a little bit.”

However, he’s starting to maybe see some weight to that statement since he’s hanging around Kanako again at the Gala practice. It’s not that Javier doesn’t know anyone else. He’s never had trouble finding someone to talk to at competitions, but Kanako wanted to catch up on everything that’s happened since The Ice and insisted on Javier’s stories about Canada because Yuzuru makes it all sound so terribly boring.

And hanging out with Kanako inevitably entails the rest of Team Japan. He doesn’t really mind though. Kanako is her giggly self, Nobunari always has a joke to tell, Takahito quietly eggs on their antics, and Akiko does her best to keep them in line.

In the middle of Nobunari’s attempt to imitate Akiko’s free program, Javier’s phone buzzes with a text from Yuzuru. It says, “ _Congratulations!!!_ ” followed by a string of Japanese characters.

“Hey, Kanako,” Javier taps the girl’s shoulder and shows her the phone screen. “What does this say?”

She takes it from him to get a better look and breaks into a wide grin. “Is from Yuzu-kun?”

“Yuzu-kun? Hanyu Yuzuru?” Nobunari leans over Kanako’s shoulder to read the text.

“Yeah,” Javier confirms. “What does it say?”

“ _Omedetou._ ” Kanako smiles. “Gold medalist.”

Javier lets this knowledge turn into a bundle of pride in his sternum. Meanwhile, Nobunari collapses the rest of his weight upon the girl and wails something dramatically.

The Spaniard turns to Akiko. “What did he say?”

“I’ve been replaced,” Akiko answers him politely, but the corners of her mouth are twitching.

Kanako snarks at Nobu, which has him straightening up and nodding with an uncharacteristic solemness. Akiko’s mouth stops its light-hearted dance and turns down. She admonishes them, glancing at Javier pointedly.

“What did _she_ say?” Javier’s starting to sound like a broken record.

Akiko shakes her head and casts a warning look at her teammates. “Nothing important.”

“Kanako and Nobu are always silly. Don’t mind,” Takahito interjects, pulling at the end of Kanako’s ponytail.

Kanako scrunches her face at Takahito and then bows to Javier slightly, apologizing as she returns his phone. Javier bites the inside of his cheek and debates pursuing the topic. In the end, he simply sighs and takes his phone, shooting back a short but sincere reply.

—

Betrayal, Javier comes to learn, looks a lot like a Canadian junior skater, puns, and someone who is way too easily amused. He arrived in Toronto and was greeted by the harsh reality that Nam had introduced awful, cheesy jokes to Yuzuru and that Yuzuru had taken a liking to them.

On his first day back, Yuzuru came up to him and said, “Knock knock.”

“What?”

Yuzuru shook his head. “No, you say ‘who’s there.’”

“Who’s there?” Javier asked, hesitantly.

“Ach.”

“Ach who?”

“Bless you!”

The two of them stared at each other, Javier with confusion and Yuzuru with eagerness.

“You don’t get it?” Yuzuru’s shoulders sagged, clearly disappointed that his friend didn’t laugh. “You sound like sneeze, so I say bless you.”

“No, I got it.”

“It’s okay. Nam had to explain me first,” Yuzuru said, patting Javier’s shoulder sympathetically and skating off before Javier could properly explain that he wasn’t confused about the stupid pun.

The most horrifying part, other than the consistency with which these jokes are thrown out, is that everyone else is also in on the conspiracy. Javier saw Tracy looking up more for Yuzuru during his break. Elene and Brian are dirty enablers for smiling along however exasperatedly. Javier appears to be the only one who would like for them to stop.

Currently, he is sitting at the Hanyu’s dining table, tapping his fingers against the wood and brooding over the nicest way to request that Yuzuru cease and desist.

“Mom say food ready soon,” Yuzuru, the current bane of Javier’s existence, reports.

“Are you sure she doesn’t need help?” Javier tries again. Yumi had formally extended her invitation to dinner after practice yesterday, efficiently accosting Javier in the lounge. He was more than happy to accept, although the way Yumi ferociously guards against Javier’s presence in the kitchen makes him wonder how much of a disaster Yuzuru must be to have fostered such distrust from his mother.

“No, no, you are guest.” He sits into the chair across from Javier, rearranging his chopsticks to be parallel with the edge of the table. Suddenly, he perks up, and Javier just knows that another one is coming. “Oh, what fish say when hit wall?”

Javier rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Dam.” Yuzuru says with complete composure, punching the palm of one hand with the other as if acting out the poor fish’s demise.

Javier doesn’t know if it’s a result of being worn down all week or the combination of the stupid joke and Yuzuru’s expression of undue seriousness, but he laughs. He breaks the deadpan attitude he’d adopted in the face of this cheesy humor, and he laughs big and loud.

“Javi laugh,” Yuzuru notes, clapping happily.

“Yeah, yeah, you got me,” Javier says, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “What’s with all these jokes anyway?”

The other skater ducks his head, and his ears turn a light pink. He smiles awkwardly and says, “Javi always make laugh during practice. Want try, too.”

And Javier really doesn’t know what to do with that information. He hadn’t realized that Yuzuru was only ever repeating those punchlines to him. Javier can feel his face doing something weird, and he’s taken entirely too long to answer. In every second that passes, Yuzuru’s face gets redder and redder until he mutters something about going to the kitchen.

“Wait,” Javier says as Yuzuru gets up. The Japanese skater glances back at Javier, entirely prepared to make his retreat. “Yuzu, these jokes aren’t that funny.”

“Make laugh once,” Yuzuru says indignantly, not appreciating how his friend might be disdainful of his efforts.

Javier winces. He definitely meant to say something different, something nicer. Yuzuru makes it to the doorway this time when Javier blurts out, “I meant, thank you. It was really nice of you.”

Yuzuru blinks twice before breaking out into a grin, looking infinitely proud of himself. He has one hand braced against the wall as he tilts his head to the side, and in the waning afternoon light, he is gentle and easy and bright. “You’re welcome, but I will stop I think.”

“Really?” As much as Javier railed against it, he thinks he might actually be a little disappointed to see it gone completely. They were never funny, but they were endearing.

“Yeah,” Yuzuru sighs. “Really hard to get sometimes.”

This makes Javier laugh again, sincerely this time, as Yumi peeks out from behind Yuzuru’s shoulder to tell them that dinner is finished. The room is soon filled with the smell of sweet curry as mother and son set the table—once more refusing Javier’s help. Javier sits across from Yuzuru, and lets him make fun of Javier for using a fork. They are three foreigners in a city far away from home trying to catch a wisp of a dream, and in the waning afternoon light, it is gentle and easy and bright.

—

NHK Trophy could’ve gone a lot better, and it could’ve gone a lot worse, but Javier has qualified for the final, and he lets that thought carry him as he enjoys the exhibition performances. He’s standing along rinkside with some of the other skaters. There’s only the performance from the men’s gold medalist left, and then all of them will go out for the finale. As the announcer calls out Yuzuru’s name, Javier mentally prepares himself.

Javier doesn’t want to talk about Yuzuru’s exhibition program. He thinks he maybe remembers the echoes of a similar song years ago, but he didn’t know Yuzuru then. He knows him now and Jesus Christ. Yuzuru is seventeen. Yuzuru is a child. He has a baby face, and he makes his Pooh bear bow with him in the Kiss and Cry. He should not be doing an exhibition that involves leather gloves and stripping and lipstick hearts.

He especially does not care to talk about Yuzuru’s Skate America performance of it, despite Elene’s best efforts to make as many people as possible watch the clip before Yuzuru returned and it would be considered bad taste to do so. Honestly, Yuzuru got called out by the announcer. That’s just ridiculous. The whole thing is too much, and Javier doesn’t want to talk about it.

His face is already set in a grimace when he realizes that Yuzuru isn’t wearing the shiny jacket and the gloves. He wonders out loud, “Wait, that isn’t his costume.”

Daisuke happens to be within earshot of Javier and saves him from his confusion. “It’s skate for earthquake since we are in Sendai.”

Instantly, that statement directs all of Javier’s attention back to Yuzuru in warm pastels bathed in a cool spotlight. Yuzuru never mentioned a new exhibition. Then again, Yuzuru just doesn’t mention the earthquake. At least, not to Javier. Throughout the week, people would tell Javier facts and numbers about the disaster and part of him always glanced at Yuzuru, but the younger skater would be staring at the floor or tying his boots, doing his best to pretend he didn’t hear.

The opening piano notes spill onto the ice, and Yuzuru skates forward with that soft, melting smile and opens his arms to the audience. He’s mouthing along to words that Javier can’t understand, but somehow he thinks he gets it anyway. Every element seems to be drawing out some elusive meaning. It is caring and healing. It is assuring everyone that they will be okay.

The performance ends and there are more than just a few watery eyes in the arena. Javier suspects that there are a couple sniffles coming from around him. Javier doesn’t feel like crying but he does feel emotional, almost wistful for something he’s never had and longing for somewhere he’s never been. At that moment, they are calling for all of them to go out, and Javier is simply left with a lingering feeling of awe.

He wants to talk to Yuzuru. He doesn’t know if he wants to talk about skating or the earthquake or what, but Javier has a sense of needing to speak with his friend. He doesn’t get the chance to though. They are in Sendai, Japan, and Yuzuru is their hero, their icon. Through the finale and the banquet, he is constantly surrounded by other people who clearly also feel the need to talk to him. Javier still manages to have fun—he and Elene commiserate together by ruthlessly teasing each other—but the thought stays.

By the end of the night, he’d come to accept that he won’t get the opportunity to, and he’s fine with it. He doesn’t think he would know what to say anyway. Then a harried Daisuke catches him by the table of snacks.

“Mao say Yuzu leave already, and I need go too,” he says with no preamble.

“Um, I don’t know what you want me to do about that,” Javier says, and it comes out more like a question.

“Right, sorry. I borrow from Yuzu and need return.” Daisuke indeed pulls out a Nintendo charger with a distinctive Pooh sticker at the end. “Can you?”

“Yeah, sure. I was about to head out anyway,” Javier accepts, not thinking any of it.

Daisuke thanks him quickly and scurries off again. Javier wasn’t lying. It’s been a long day, and he was planning to turn in early. He keeps the charger in one hand and texts Brian with the other for Yuzuru’s room number. There’s no way to be sure but as he’s leaving, he thinks he sees Daisuke back in the banquet hall, leisurely chatting with Mao. Javier decides that he must’ve imagined it. After all, Daisuke was also in a rush to leave.

The ride to the hotel could’ve been quick but it could’ve also taken eons for all the Javier was aware of it. His thoughts turn to wisps of smoke as he sinks into those seats that smell of old fabric and rubber. He gives up on trying to grasp them. Instead, he watches the scenery they’re zooming past. Way more storefronts are left dark and empty than one expects from a city like Sendai. There are still holes where you can tell something has been ripped clean from its roots. He thinks nonsensically about how a representative said that the rink he skated in today was used as a morgue during the disaster.

The taxi rolls to a stop in front of the hotel, and Javier thanks the old man. Hopefully, he’s left enough money, but he’s still a little iffy on Japanese currency. Either way the driver seems content, and Javier makes his way into the lobby. The hotel is all marble and dark wood. Javier punches the floor number into the elevator and waits. The elevator doors slide open, and Javier wanders the hall looking for the right room number. Soon Javier is at Yuzuru’s door with charger in hand. He hears a faint shout of Japanese from inside, but it takes much longer for the door to swing open.

“Hello, Javi.” Yuzuru is barefoot and still in his Team Japan jacket. The black and the too long sleeves is now a familiar silhouette for Javier. He sounds surprised but not unhappy to see his rinkmate.

“Hey.” Javier raises the charger in greeting. “I believe this is yours.”

Yuzuru makes a cheerful noise, grabbing the skinny gray cord. “Is mine. I thought I lost.”

Javier opens his mouth to say that Daisuke gave it to him but is distracted by a sudden draft. He peers past Yuzuru and sees that the balcony door is open and that the chair from the desk has been dragged out. “Were you sitting outside?”

The younger skater is thrown off by the question and follows Javier’s line of sight, twisting his body around. “Yes, weather is nice.” He seems to deliberate, his eyes darting between the open door and Javier. “Join me?”

“Sure.”

He drifts behind Yuzuru through the room—the neatly folded bed that hasn’t been touched all day, the gold medal draped across the covers, the messy suitcase with its opened maw spilling out papers and clothes—and into the night. Javier is not dressed for the chilly November evening, but he refuses to shiver. Enough time spent in ice rinks has taught Javier that once you begin shivering you won’t be able to stop until your teeth are chattering.

Javier lingers by the door while Yuzuru immediately moves to the railing. “Do you do this often?”

“Yes, can’t sleep sometimes, so I like to sit outside. Peaceful.” He points to the southern horizon at something hidden among the sprawling complexes of light. “Home is there.”

“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask. Why didn’t you just stay at home during the trip?”

Yuzuru sighs and stares longingly into the distance. “Was easier if everyone in same place. You, me, Brian.”

“And your mom?”

“Competition over, and family miss her so she is home. I go tomorrow.”

“It must be nice to skate in Sendai though.” Javier wonders how to phrase this. “I really liked your exhibition today. It’s not your usual one.”

“Because in Japanese so only skate in Japan.”

“What’s the name of the song again? Hani—Hana na—”

“Hana ni nare,” Yuzuru corrects gently. The syllables roll off his tongue smoothly like water over a well-worn path.

“It was really nice,” Javier compliments.

“Thank you.” He smiles, only the slightest curve of his lips.

A silence stretches between them. Javier steps up next to Yuzuru, trying to breach the gap at least physically.

“You don’t talk about the earthquake much,” Javier begins as one would with something delicate and fragile.

Yuzuru inhales sharply. “Don’t like to.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just wanted you to know that I thought the program was incredible.” Javier rushes to reassure him.

“I want try.” His chest rises up and down in careful, controlled breaths as if he has to remind his lungs to move. In and out like the pushing of the tides. “I was at practice and ran out with skates on. Ruined blades.” In and out. “We stay in a school for three days. Was really hard after because everything was gone.” In and out. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. It was so fast.”

Yuzuru becomes choked up here. His eyes are wet and mirror the view of Sendai before them. What exactly is Yuzuru seeing? Does he see it then with the emptied streets and gutted buildings? Does he see it as it was with a completed skyline and all the things he had grown up with, tinted by the color of nostalgia? Or does he see it now with the criss-cross of construction cranes and skeletal skyscrapers?

“But I am alive,” Yuzuru continues, and that’s the real kicker, isn’t it? He continues. His world was shaken apart, and he continues. “Because I am alive, I must live my best. We are lucky to be alive so we should live, right?”

He looks to Javier as if for some sort of affirmation, and Javier wants to childishly say, _“Hey, don’t look at me.”_ Yuzuru is only seventeen and already knows more than Javier does, more than he probably ever will. He thinks about Yuzuru and two summers ago and sixty shows. For Yuzuru, living his best is skating.

“I don’t know,” Javier says honestly. “I do know that you're amazing.”

Yuzuru blushes and shakes his head, tucking strands of his hair behind his ears. “Not really, but thank you.”

They go quiet again, although the tension has been drained away. The metal railing is digging into Javier’s arm, and the night glitters as if it were giggling. This is not something Javier does at competitions. He wouldn’t think to spend the night of the banquet on his hotel balcony. He doesn’t think he could stand all that loneliness, but being with Yuzuru makes it a little better. Between the pleasant chill and the calm of existing, Javier could maybe see why Yuzuru would do this.

“Oh, I forget!” Yuzuru exclaims, and the sudden noise is like a stone being dropped into a pond. It’s enough to give Javier whiplash. “Brian come to house for lunch tomorrow. Mom say invite Javi, too. She say she can make better with food in Japan. Will come?”

Javier smiles and bumps their shoulders together. “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow. Um tbh I'm not too sure how coherent this chapter is because it was written amidst recovering from the flu and 4CC stress. Speaking of 4CC!!! WOW I have Thoughts and Feelings about all that. All in all, it was a stunning event and to think Pyeongchang had THAT as their test event for the Olympics is pretty wild (ALSO thank god I've already written one super emo thing about Yuzuru and therefore am purged of it hahahahaha).


	6. lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic that incorporates Enrique Iglesias lyrics with no deeper meaning: birthday cakes, vending machine drinks, Christmas spirit, and the dangers of not thinking.

“This is Olympic test,” Yuzuru says, all wide-eyed wonder and glittering ambition. He has his hands wrapped tight around his water bottle, and every nerve in his body is vibrating with the need to be on that ice.

“I know.”

Javier rolls his eyes behind Yuzuru’s back. Even if everyone in the figure skating world hadn’t already been talking for months on end about how the Grand Prix Final would be the Sochi test event, Javier would still definitively know that this was the test event because Yuzuru has not stopped reminding everyone within earshot of that fact. The men’s group is loitering around the rink waiting for the okay to begin official practice. Javier is trying to be nonplussed about it, but there is a charged atmosphere around them all. None of them can forget the imminency of the Olympics, and not just because of the gigantic five rings mounted on the wall above the stands.

“Yuzu,” Daisuke calls out as he approaches them, and Yuzuru in his state of anxiety jumps and nearly drops his bottle. “I talk to Akiko. We found restaurant for tomorrow.”

Yuzuru seems perplexed by his teammate conversing in English and obstinately responds in Japanese. Meanwhile, Javier’s curiosity has been peaked.

“Are you doing a team dinner thing?”

“Yes, is Yuzuru’s birthday tomorrow.”

“What?” Javier whips around to face Yuzuru. The other skater is busy giving undue attention to his home-made bottle cover, picking at the fraying blue edges.

“Yuzu not tell you?” Daisuke asks although he doesn’t sound surprised by it.

“Oh, look. Practice starting.” Yuzuru nods at the workers opening the door to the rink. He hastily sets his bottle onto the boards and slips off his guards.

“No, he didn’t,” Javier says to himself and follows his training mate’s lead onto the ice.

He slaps his guards onto the hard plastic next to Yuzuru’s and just shakes his head at Brian’s questioning look. Javier exhales loudly and shakes out his arms. He glares at those ominous Olympic rings and thinks, _“I won’t let you scare me.”_

Yuzuru might be acting weird about his birthday, but it is an Olympic test event, and Javier’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it his all even in practice. The hour flies by, and then Yuzuru is giving some excuse to Brian before scurrying off through the blue curtains with his mother. Javier hovers by the boards, reluctant to leave the rink just yet.

“Did you know that tomorrow is Yuzuru’s birthday?”

Brian shakes his head. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, he didn’t say anything,” Javier complains, some bitterness slipping into his tone. Knowing Yuzuru, he didn’t want Brian and Javier to focus any attention on that when they’re in the middle of such a crucial competition.

“He and his mother were so generous for my birthday, too. I was meaning to reciprocate.” Brian sighs, shrugging helplessly which seems to be his go-to reaction when it comes to his younger student.

They’ve come a long way since their first few stilted conversations in May, and Javier is a strong believer that his friends’ birthdays cannot go ignored. He stares thoughtfully at the curtain that Yuzuru disappeared behind, and that’s when he’s struck by an idea.

“Hey Brian, wanna help me with something?”

—

Javier checks his watch, pulling an unattractive face at the ticking hands. He’s never exactly been the best at time management. He can only hope that Yuzuru has forgone his nature for a day and is running late. He switches the powder pink box from one hand to another. Should he even bother knocking? If Yuzuru has already left, Javier doesn’t want to end up in an awkward interaction with Yumi.

“Man up,” Javier mumbles to himself and raises his hand to knock. That’s when the hotel door opens, effectively putting Javier out of his misery.

“ _Dios mio._ You scared me,” Javier complains, clutching a hand to his chest.

“Javi?” Yuzuru looks just as startled with wide eyes and one foot forward, ready to leave his room. “What are you doing?”

Javier takes a deep breath and presents the cake box. “Happy birthday. It’s from me and Brian.”

Yuzuru doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move. Just stares at the box as if it holds the answer to the universe. Javier makes up for this by suddenly losing the ability to shut up.

“It’s strawberry shortcake.” Javier moves the box closer, and Yuzuru leans forward almost imperceptibly to peer at the glazed red through the plastic top. “I remember you said something about that, and I know you don’t like eating anything new before competitions, but even the Russians can’t mess up strawberry shortcake, right? Anyway I don’t know if they’ve already ordered a cake for your dinner tonight, but if they didn’t well—”

“Thank you,” Yuzuru interrupts, taking the offending dessert from Javier, and Javier lets out a very audible sigh of relief.

“You’re welcome.”

Yuzuru brings the cake up to his face, his breath fogging up the top. He laughs softly. “Look good but don’t think Russia can beat cakes in Japan.”

“We tried okay,” Javier whines. He and Brian had to call five different shops to find one that could make it on such short notice.

“And they spell Yuzuru wrong,” Yuzuru points out.

“Are you kidding me?” Javier groans.

He manages to fit himself beside Yuzuru in the slim doorway, Yuzuru’s shoulder resting back against his chest as he tries to decipher the icing. He finds that the name was indeed incorrect. Yuzuru has been turned into Yuzuzu by some poor, confused Russian baker.

“It’s okay.” Yuzuru clears his throat and walks out into the hall with his head down. He holds gaze with the cake instead of Javier as he says, “I am late. Should go now. Can share with others?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I doubt you could eat all that by yourself anyway.”

Yuzuru bows deeply, careful not to disturb the box, and says, “Thank you.”

Javier just laughs and ruffles his hair to useless protests. “No problem. Just remember to pay me back on my birthday, yes?”

Yuzuru glares at Javier half-heartedly from under messy bangs before he’s quickly disappearing down the hallway. Javier turns the other direction to his own room and whistles happily, recalling the smile Yuzuru gave him during the second thank you, the soft one. Javier thinks that it’s rapidly becoming his favorite expression from the younger skater.

Later that night, a knock on Javier’s door shakes him awake from where he’d fallen asleep with his glasses still on and some Russian news channel buzzing in the background. When he opens his door, he finds nothing except a small, plastic plate with a single slice of strawberry cake and a note written on hotel stationary saying, “Gracias.”

It makes Javier smile even through his yawn, and he makes sure to place the note safely into the front pocket of his travel bag before he devours the dessert. Javier shrugs to himself. Maybe Russian bakeries don’t have the highest spelling accuracy, but the cake itself certainly doesn’t disappoint. He’ll have to remember to try the cake in Japan some time.

—

The rest of the event passes too quickly for Javier’s taste. By the end of Sunday, Javier is sitting in the kiss and cry with his head in his hands as he misses yet another podium. Brian’s hand lands hard against his back, and it doesn’t feel any better or worse than it usually does.

“Next time, Brian,” Javier promises. “I’ll get it next time.”

Meanwhile Yuzuru does end up on the podium, and that does feel different. Javier’s never felt such an intense need to beat someone before. He knows what it’s like to want to win, but this is new. He wants to beat Yuzuru personally. And why shouldn’t he be able to? He is four years older than the kid. He’s been training under Brian longer. He’s certainly capable so why not?

It’s a new sensation and a bit strange, but Javier doesn’t think it’s bad per se. He’ll just have to wait and see.

—

“We are triple axel geniuses of Japan,” Mao boasts with one elbow resting on Yuzuru’s shoulder and her chin lifted in a dramatically haughty air.

“Does anybody actually call you that?” Javier challenges, leaning lazily back against the boards and playing the part of unimpressed. In reality, he’s still a bit star struck around Mao. This is someone who made silver at the last Olympics, who battled against Yuna Kim since her junior days, who does have an admittedly formidable triple axel.

“I think remember Japanese media say actually,” Tatsuki interjects helpfully.

“See!” She points at Tatsuki proudly.

“Fine, but I still don’t get why that means I should buy stuff for you guys.”

Javier crosses his arms stubbornly. Mao has been trying for the last five minutes to explain why Javier should treat them to vending machine drinks. There were some Japanese phrases about senpai and kohai and then a convoluted reasoning about how it should extend to her and the rest of Team Japan present. Needless to say, Javier is not convinced.

“How about bet?” Mao’s eyes were glittering eagerly, and it is easy to forget in her cheerful smiles and flowy dresses that she is as tough a competitor as anyone. “I bet Yuzu can do triple axel with no skating.”

Javier snorts. “Impossible.”

“So take bet?”

“Sure,” he agrees without putting more thought into it. He should’ve taken the time to realize that this was Yuzuru who is insane and impossibility personified. He should’ve taken Mao’s excitement as the warning sign it is.

But alas, he doesn’t do any of those things and can only watch with mounting apprehension as Mao gives Yuzuru a light shove and the younger skater moves accordingly. He sets himself up a couple feet away, bends his knees, swings his arms, and then just like magic, pops out a triple axel.

“What the hell,” Javier responds, ever so eloquently.

He’s pretty sure his jaw drops so far that he doesn’t even know where to pick it up from while Mao bounces and claps her hands, cheering her own victory. There’s a smattering of random applause from around them as other people also witnessed this craziness. Yuzuru just bows politely to all of them and dutifully accepts Mao’s high five.

“Now you can buy drink, right?” Tatsuki asks, smirking. “I’m thirsty.”

This triggers a sudden chorus of similar complaints from the other Japanese skaters, and staring blankly at Mao’s smug grin, Javier realizes that he’s been duped. However, Javier is a man of his word, so he sighs and accepts his defeat.

“I can feel my wallet getting lighter,” Javier complains, but he’s already reaching for his guards and searching his bag for said wallet.

“I can go too,” Yuzuru offers, his own guards in hand as well.

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’m just messing around. I don’t actually mind,” Javier reassures.

Yuzuru makes a show of counting his teammates and teases, “Know Javi not good at math, but can carry seven drink alone?”

“Oh, shut up.” Javier’s words are softened by his grin and the way he rests a hand on the nape of Yuzuru’s neck to guide the other skater along.

The two of them lumber off in their boots that are now clunky and graceless on land, and they don’t see the looks being exchanged behind their back. It doesn’t take them long to find a vending machine. Unfortunately, the buttons are all in Japanese, so Javier just inserts the money and lets Yuzuru handle selecting the drinks, trusting that he’d have a better grasp on his teammates’ tastes anyway.

“So you were all excited about the Olympic test event,” Javier comments nonchalantly. “Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Yuzuru says decisively. He gives Javier a sugary sports drink and leaves some green tea thing for himself. “The blue is nice. I like. Also listen for type of sound.”

“Type of sound?” Javier feeds in a couple more bills and Yuzuru keeps pressing buttons, and they alternate who picks up the drink.

Yuzuru nods, his eyes reflecting the glow of the vending machine and creating a fantasy-like effect. “Sound is different in different rink. I try remember how change.”

Javier nods in a sort of ambivalent agreement. He’s aware of what Yuzuru is saying in a really vague way. He knows that the echo can change from rink to rink, but it’s rarely a big concern of his. Then again, it appears that a lot of his friend’s biggest concerns don’t register with Javier. They’re different people, and that’s okay.

Yuzuru retrieves the last drink and gestures with a jerk of his head for them to head back. They walk in pace down the hall, both arms laden with offerings to Team Japan, and Javier glances down at Yuzuru out of the corner of his eye.

“Worlds,” Javier begins abruptly. “I’ll beat you at Worlds, Yuzu.”

Yuzuru slows down considerably, almost tripping over his heavy skates. Javier doesn’t do things like this, dramatic declarations and all that jazz. It makes him feel a little embarrassed and wonders how Yuzuru does it so often. Hiding his suddenly bashful expression, Javier keeps walking and chooses to not look back to his companion.

Then a ring of laughter splits the air accompanied by skipping steps. Yuzuru appears next to Javier again and says with the same haughty tilt of his chin as his fellow ‘triple axel genius,’ “You can try.”

—

_“Si pudiera bajarte una estrella del cielo. Lo haría sin pensarlo dos veces.”_

Javier throws his head back laughing. It hits the back of their green sofa as the garbling of his Tia Anita begins from the kitchen. It’s not a Fernandez Christmas until Tia Anita is drunk, and when Tia Anita is drunk, it is always going to be Enrique Iglesias. He has one arm wrapped around Cortney while the other one works to keep his beer balanced on his thigh. Everything is fairy lights and tinsel, eggnog and churros. Christmas really is the best time to come home.

Cortney chuckles painfully as Tia Anita grows louder at the chorus. She pats his knee and says, “I think I’m going to go to the bathroom. Let me know when the song ends, yeah?”

“I’m afraid Tia Anita doesn’t stop until the night ends, or until Abuela gets annoyed enough to say something. Whatever happens first. I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer,” Javier says apologetically.

“Still better than my Uncle Fred with Jingle Bell Rock.” She leans down to peck him once on the cheek. In the kitchen, Tia Anita has managed to miss a truly tremendous note. Cortney winces as she pulls back. “I think.”

Javier laughs again, settling back with a sip of his drink. Javier loves Christmas. Unabashedly and childishly. He’s had to spend a lot of time away from home because of what he does, and it’s nice to be reminded of his family during the holidays. And he’s enjoyed making this trip with Corntey. He knows that not many people would think to invite their significant others to meet their family so enthusiastically—as many of Javier’s friends had told him back in Toronto—but that’s kind of how Javier operates. When someone matters to Javier, they meet his family.

“It is good to see you again, Javi,” a gravely voice says in slightly Catalonian Spanish. The voice then grumbles faintly as it slumps in all its shawls and skirts onto the couch next to Javier.

“Abuela, I had to come back to see you of course.”

Javier wraps an arm around the elderly woman and presses a kiss to her gray hair. They’ve always been close. When it came to the decision for Javier to move away to America to train, his grandma had been his biggest supporter, and for that, he will forever be thankful. Perla Fernandez is a stern, old woman who has seen through three generations of Fernandez men, but she does have a soft spot for ‘her little Javi.’

“And you’ve brought your girlfriend this time,” Perla comments, folding the ends of her shawl in a pleat between her knuckles. It’s red today to match the festivities as she does every year.

Ah, this is what he’s been waiting for. Abuela’s judgement. “Yes, what do you think of her?”

“What do I think of her?” Perla scoffs. “What does my opinion matter? I’m just your grandma. Doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll just do whatever you want.”

“That’s not true. I always care about what Abuela says,” Javier insists, hugging her a little tighter. Perla isn’t actually shy about sharing her opinions, but she likes to hear other people ask for it.

She sniffs delicately. “How old is she again?”

Javier hesitates for a beat. Of all the questions, he didn’t expect that one. “Eighteen.”

“Oh, eighteen,” Perla moans dramatically, her hand unravels her pleated work to press against her breastbone. “No one ever knows what they want at eighteen.”

“I’m only two years older than her,” he defends, although he’s not quite sure what he’s defending.

“Two years is a lot. What did you know about what you wanted at eighteen?” she asks with a thin eyebrow raised.

Javier opens his mouth and closes it again. He didn’t know shit at eighteen. He was in America, alone and lost and losing. For a split second, he wants to argue that he knows a newly-turned eighteen year old with every idea about what they want, but that would be useless. Perla doesn’t know anything about Yuzuru and would probably assume he’s making up the story.

“She’s so young. She doesn’t know what she wants and neither, I think, do you,” Perla says, casting her final judgement with a hard look over the top of her reading glasses.

Javier is stumped by this statement and feels a spike of annoyance at that. “What does it matter? It’s not like we’re planning to get married. We don’t have to think so deeply about all that stuff.”

“That’s just like you, Javi.” Perla clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You never want to think. Thinking won’t kill you, you know?”

“I know, I know,” Javier rolls his eyes, grateful to be back on somewhat familiar ground. “You’ve said that to me a million times.”

“Yet when will you take it to heart?” Perla exclaims. After a few more complaints in Catalan, she gets up from the couch and begins waddling toward the kitchen. “I’m done with you. I should go stop Anita now. Say what you want about my lovely daughter, but she is no singer.”

Normally, this comment about Javier’s aunt would make him laugh uncontrollably, especially in the warm atmosphere created by presents under the tree and a full Christmas Eve meal. However, after that conversation with his grandma, he’s feeling a little less festive. The living room has left the realm of comfortable warmth and become stifling. It’s been a long time since Javier has felt that way at a family gathering, and he doesn’t like its return.

Javier scowls, and while no one is looking, escapes to the terrace. Upon stepping outside, he becomes immensely grateful that he thought to grab his coat from off the back of the couch. It has been cold enough in Madrid this year for all of Javier’s nieces and nephews to sincerely hope for a White Christmas. He sighs and watches his breath turn to fog. He’s not quite sure what he hoped to find out here. Peace? Clarity? Some bitter cold to combat the warmth inside?

He leans on the banister and pulls out his phone. Maybe he can just let the chill settle his bones a bit while he checks his Twitter or something, and then he can return in good cheer. This plan is thwarted when he notices a text from Yuzuru. Javier had sent a message earlier in the evening, congratulating his friend on becoming National Champion. He hadn’t expected a reply tonight, but this reply is all wrong. It’s only a thank you with none of the emoticons and exclamation points that usually accompany Yuzuru’s messages. It wasn’t the response of someone who should be celebrating a Nationals win.

The message was only sent ten minutes ago, which means that whatever time it is over there Yuzuru should still be awake. Javier doesn’t try to do the time conversions in his head and just opens the Skype app. As soon as he confirms the green circle by Yuzuru’s name, he presses call.

It only takes a couple rings before Yuzuru answers. From the background, it seems that he’s also on a balcony somewhere. Javier looks around himself at the potted plants and laundry lines and wonders if this is another pesky habit that he’d somehow picked up from Yuzuru along with a certain amount of timeliness and a propensity to do quad jumps at gala practices.

“Hello, Javi.” He sounds tired. “Why are you calling?”

“Why are you on the balcony alone? You won. You should be happy.”

Yuzuru lifts his head and tries for a smile. “I am happy.”

“Your text didn’t sound happy.”

The younger skater deflates a bit, and he purses his lips, looking for the words in English. “Skate was not perfect. People think I shouldn’t win.”

“That’s bullshit. You won which means you won. Don’t listen to them,” Javier says, leaping to Yuzuru’s defense against these unnamed enemies.

“That what Brian say but hard.” Yuzuru ducks his head, and even through the darkness, Javier thinks he can see Yuzuru biting his lips. The younger skater looks up again, and his eyes are bright stars searching for a constellation. “It’s okay. I will prove that I should win.”

“That’s the spirit!” Javier cheers. “Besides it’s Christmas. You should be celebrating.”

“Japan doesn’t do Christmas,” Yuzuru says, raising his eyebrows. He’s had to explain this to Javier many times when the Spaniard was bemoaning the injustice of Nationals at Christmas.

“Well, I do. Merry Christmas,” Javier responds stubbornly.

Suddenly, Yuzuru’s eyes widen and dart all around and his mouth opens with a small gasp. “Javi, it’s snowing.”

Javier looks up. Indeed, there are snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. He smiles as the cold specks land on his face. The children will definitely be ecstatic, and if the snow holds, he knows exactly how to attack Laura tomorrow morning.

“Merry Christmas,” Yuzuru whispers with as much awe as if he were the one on a Spanish terrace with snow dusting his hair. “I get Javi present by the way.”

“You did? But I didn’t get you anything,” Javier protests. He'll have to remember to get something before he goes back to Toronto. It's only polite.

“It’s fine.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Surprise.”

Javier pouts exaggeratedly which has Yuzuru laughing. “Please?”

“No,” Yuzuru says sternly. “You should go back to family.”

“Right,” Javier says, turning to the glass door behind him. He can still see the lights and the tinsel. It had slipped away from him in his banter with Yuzuru. He’d forgotten for a second that they were on other ends of the earth.

“Thank you, Javi, for calling. I am much happier now,” Yuzuru blurts out quickly, and before Javier can respond, the other boy has hung up.

Javier stares dazedly at his phone for a bit and the away icon next to Yuzuru’s name. He shakes his head and braces himself to return. Maybe balconies are a nice solution to things. He feels much calmer now. He opens the sliding door and yells, “ _Niños,_ it’s snowing!”

Almost immediately, there is a stampede of children fighting to get out onto the terrace while worried parents try to fit them in their coats in time. In the commotion, Javier is shoved into a corner where Cortney soon finds him.

“So this is where you were. Thought maybe you’d died from the wailing.”

“I thought Abuela put a stop to it already.” Javier opens his arms to welcome her, and she steps into the embrace easily. Forget what his grandma said about all that thinking. Sometimes this is enough.

“Well, I don’t think she tried very hard,” Cortney deadpans.

And she’s right. Underneath all the noise generated by the sight of snow, Javier can still hear the stylings of Enrique Iglesias and Tia Anita’s bastardization of it.

_“Se detiene el tiempo. Me viene el alma al cuerpo. Sonrió, cuando me enamoro.”_

—

With the second half of the season in full swing, Toronto falls into a routine. Javier retains his afternoons as morning will forever be his Achilles heel, and Yuzuru takes most of the mornings because, as noted before, he is insane. He takes most of the mornings but on Tuesdays and Fridays he will join Javier in the afternoon, and in the evening, they either hang out or keep jumping a while longer, together.

It is a Tuesday, and they are on the benches drinking water and panting. Javier doesn’t have quite the same heart for this as he usually does, and Yuzuru’s definitely noticed.

“Okay?” Yuzuru asks, passing along a tissue boxed dressed in a Mickey Mouse cover.

It was his Christmas present to Javier, which he’d handed over with a blush and messily wrapped Santa paper. Javier takes a tissue and notes that Yuzuru is also wearing the present that Javier gave him. A glass bead bracelet that Javier scoured the streets of Spain on Christmas morning for. Javier smiles despite his mood that day. A luck charm each.

“I’m okay,” Javier lies.

“Tell me,” Yuzuru orders, bopping his nose with Mickey Mouse.

Javier huffs indignantly and pushes the tissue box away. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about Euros I guess.”

“Why?”

“It’s a big competition, and I want to win, but anything can happen, you know?”

Yuzuru taps his chin thoughtfully. Then he pulls his iPad and a notebook out of his bag. “Maybe this help.”

“What are you doing?” Javier asks, peeking over his shoulder, and Yuzuru is scrolling through the ISU listings for the men’s event. Why is he doing that?

“I am helping,” Yuzuru answers mysteriously.

Javier gives up and leans back against the wall, leaving Yuzuru to his machinations. He closes his eyes for a bit and just listens to the sound of scratching pen and the flipping of pages.

“Here.”

Yuzuru shoves his notebook into Javier’s lap, and written there in black-and-white is the base values of the short and long program of the top contenders for the Europeans podium along with their season’s best.

“Wh-what is this?” Javier asks slowly.

“Scores.” Yuzuru reaches over and points out Javier’s name. “See, you can win. Hard to imagine maybe, but numbers are here. You have highest score and only one make Grand Prix Final this year. Just do what always do. Like in practice.”

Javier runs a fingertip over his name and his scores, his season’s worth of work, written out in Yuzuru’s impeccably neat handwriting, and he laughs. It’s relieved and hopeful, and it fills the empty rink, stretching into the high ceilings above. He throws an arm around Yuzuru and says, “Thank you.”

The sheer sincerity seems to throw Yuzuru for a loop, but he just smiles back, the same way as with the cake and the bracelet.

“You’re welcome.”

—

Who decided on the floral arrangements in this hotel? They’re objectively ugly. Whoever they are needs to get their eyes checked. Javier stares at the one on the round table next to him which also gives him something to look at instead of Brian.

“Javier,” Brian says, and Javier doesn’t need to be looking at him to imagine the look of pure disappointment. Javier doesn’t say anything, and he hears Brian sigh. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if you were just a little more responsible.”

Javier winces at the sharp tone. Technically, the airline losing the suitcase with his boots in it should be more of a reflection of their irresponsibility, but he knows why Brian is saying this. Javier arrived late at the airport to check in, and they’d run out of space on the main flight for his luggage, so it had to be stored in a separate carrier flight. Now here he was in Zagreb with no boots in sight, wasting about in the lobby of a hotel with terrible tastes in flower arrangements, until they decided on what to do.

“I know, but I didn’t think the flight would lose the suitcase,” Javier protests.

“Exactly, you didn’t think,” Brian snaps. Wow, does this give Javier deja vu to his grandma, and that’s a truly weird connection to make.

“I’m sorry, but isn’t that a little dramatic? I mean, it’s just one mistake, right?” Javier bites back.

Brian shakes his head and mutters so quietly that Javier almost doesn’t hear it, “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Brian stands up, passing Javier his hotel key. “We’ll wait to see if the airline calls anything in, but if they don’t find your boots, we’ll have to pull you from the competition.”

Javier groans as he runs a finger along the edge of Yuzuru’s notebook. His friend had allowed him to borrow it for the week, and Javier found something soothing in flipping through those pages of meticulous notes. It was solid and certain. So much for all those numbers. He won’t even get a chance to try.

“It wouldn’t hurt to think a bit more, okay?” Brian clears his throat again and gestures at the notebook in Javier’s lap. There’s a strange tone to his voice. He says this slowly and carefully, every dragged out syllable begging Javier to understand.

—

Thankfully, the airline finds Javier’s suitcase in time, and by the end of the competition, he’s the new Europeans Champion. Javier wins, and because he’s feeling a little petty, he turns to Brian as the results come in and jokes, “Hey, looks like not thinking worked out alright for me, didn’t it?”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Brian smiles tightly, and his eyes almost look pitying.

Later, at the press conference, Javier tells everybody that maybe he should lose his boots every time. People hear this and they laugh, and Javier definitely does not make these jokes because he feels in anyway badgered by the warnings of Brian or his Abuela. Nope, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this update took a while, didn't it? It was a busy time for me, but hopefully the length sort of makes up for it? Anyway I am always v grateful for those who take the time to leave a comment. Thank you guys!


	7. pathways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in "watch how many analogies I can fit into one paragraph": photographs, practicing, fake cities, how we remember our homes, and how it all happens

Snow coats the world in a halo glow, falling on Toronto in layers and covering all the footprints of the morning by the night. Snow forgives and forgets easily. The slights of the evening will not carry through the night and in the morning will be new again. It is Tuesday, and Javier and Yuzuru are in the park near the subway station that they found themselves in all those months ago. Javier has his coffee and his heavy duffel, and Yuzuru has his hot chocolate and his rolling backpack.

“Saya send picture from dinner.” Yuzuru hands Javier a neatly wrapped brown package with Yuzuru’s address written across the front.

“She printed them out?” Javier turns the package around in every direction. He didn’t know people still printed photos. He did wonder a little why he had yet to see any of the countless pictures Saya had taken on her camera. Turns out the older sister was getting them the old fashioned way.

Yuzuru nods. “I have wall in room. Remind me of home when in Canada. Saya make picture for me.”

Javier opens the side of it and tips it into the palm of his hand. The photos spill out in a technicolor puddle. There is one of him, Brian, and Yuzuru on the couch, each grinning, and multiple angles of everyone gathered around the dinner table. He notes the truly striking resemblance between the Hanyu siblings and their mother—in looks and in personality. Yuzuru’s father turned out to be a sagely man with a calmer air about him than the rest of his whirlwind family. He was steady as a mountain in the midst of pure energy and laughter. Javier smiles at a photo of him and Yuzuru, arms wrapped around each other and posed in the middle of the living room. But the next one isn’t from dinner. It’s Saya at an ice rink.

“Does your sister skate?” Javier asks.

Yuzuru leans over to see the photo Javier is referring to. “Yes. She skate for fun.”

“My sister skates, too. She had to stop for a bit because our family couldn’t support both of us, but she does some ice dancing now.”

“Saya do same,” Yuzuru explains. “Parent never thought we would keep skating, but Saya believe in me. Say she want me to.”

“I didn’t realize that both of our sisters used to skate.” Javier is flooded by memories of being short enough for Laura to rest her chin on his head and of how safe he’d felt on those afternoon walks to the rink as long as she held his hand in her own. “I started by following Laura to practice. She used to make fun of me every time I fell.”

Yuzuru giggles at the mental image. “Me too. I always want beat Saya. If sister can do, then I can too and do better.”

Javier shakes his head. It’s such a Yuzuru thought to have. Even his own family was not safe from his competitive spirit. Javier looks down at Saya’s face that speaks of a lineage and a connection transcribed into a blurry image, and the simple joy reminds him of Laura and the last time he saw her skate.

Figure skating is a brutal sport. Not everyone makes it, but very often the ones who do, have a story like this behind them. Everyone knows about sacrifice and everyone also knows that the hardest sacrifices to bear aren’t the ones you make, but the ones made in your name. They both have a shot at the top of the world, and they both have someone who loved them enough to step away from that dream. There are certain gratitudes that can’t be put into words. There are certain debts that can’t be repaid.

“I’m glad she’s skating again. She looks happy,” Javier says and it feels like an over-simplification.

“She is,” Yuzuru says. Sometimes in cases of unspeakable gratitude and unpayable debts, that’s all you can hope for.

During the ice show, Javier met a Yuzuru that didn’t know how to shut up, and that Yuzuru followed them back to Toronto. Sometimes he gets so excited that he’ll just yammer on in Japanese while Javier listens. But in Sendai, Yuzuru is different. There’s a silence, a peace, akin to fresh snow in its undisturbed tranquility. There was a singular moment during dinner when Javier looked away from the conversation and caught Yuzuru with his eyes closed and a half-smile on his face. Javier has yet to see this stillness anywhere outside of Sendai but when Yuzuru’s framed in a halo glow and reminiscing about home, it comes close.

—

“I got it. Get off my back,” Javier snaps, pushing himself off the ground. There’s a tension hung across his shoulders and strung into his legs, and he feels like he might shatter if someone strikes him hard enough.

Brian doesn’t even look mad, just disappointed and slightly annoyed. “Take five. Come back when you’re ready to work again.” The coach doesn’t make sure that Javier listens to this instruction. He just starts flipping through a stack of papers and talking to an assistant coach next to him.

Javier growls and tries his best to stomp to a nearby bench. He doesn’t care what Brian said. He’s not getting anywhere today. Javier starts unlacing his boots. He’s going home.

A black pair of skates slide into view. “What are you doing?”

Javier doesn’t bother looking up. “Leaving.”

“Why?”

“I’m not in the mood, Yuzuru.” The stupid laces are getting tangled in his frantic fingers.

Yuzuru scoffs. “So?”

“Fuck off.” Javier gives up, slapping his palms down onto the bench. Stupid laces. Stupid skates. Stupid practice. What’s wrong with him today? Why can’t he get it right?

The Japanese skater sighs and kneels down. Gloved hands make quick work of the messy knots and begin the process of lacing them back up. “Only thirty more minutes.”

“I don’t feel like it anymore,” Javier says, knowing that he sounds every bit like a petulant child, but watching Yuzuru’s methodic movements has taken the edge off Javier’s anger. He just feels tired now.

“Come on. Get up.” Yuzuru stands and holds out a hand to Javier. “Do in practice yesterday. Can do today. Just keep going.”

Somehow Javier’s ill temper gradually dissipates. Yuzuru has a hand on his hip and is looking at him so expectantly that Javier can’t find the energy to rail against it. Yuzuru’s right. He didn’t just forget how to skate in a single day, and there’s plenty of work to be done. He shakes his head and lets Yuzuru pull him up. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“Not always,” Yuzuru says, tilting his head thoughtfully. “With Javi, just am.”

“Why, you little brat,” Javier sputters indignantly.

Yuzuru skates away, throwing his head back laughing. Javier sticks out his tongue at Yuzuru and returns to Brian. The coach doesn’t seem all that surprised that Javier returned when he normally would’ve stormed off. He just calmly puts down his papers and asks for one more run through.

—

February is a slow month for Javier with not much in terms of competitions. It becomes a rhythmic routine of afternoon practices and dinners with Cortney or other friends on the weekends. After one such practice, Javier leaves the locker room, still rubbing a towel through his wet hair. He stops mid-motion when he hears the sound of music being played distantly in the practice rink. Through the windows of the lounge, Javier can see a slender figure lapping around the rink. He curses under his breath, ditching his practice equipment and rushing for the door. The haunting string music is immediately recognizable. The Japanese skater throws himself into the air only to come crashing down, hard. Jump and fall. Jump and fall.

Javier unclenches his jaw and turns off the music. He asks calmly as one would with a wild animal, “What are you doing?”

“Practicing.” Yuzuru doesn’t even look up to acknowledge Javier’s presence. He glares down at the ice where he’d just fallen. Panting and impatient for his breath to return so that he may try again.

“Brian wouldn’t like this.”

Javier knows for a fact that Yuzuru was already in for practice this morning. He doesn’t know who the boy had to charm to get in again. Brian has been away on business for the week, and Yuzuru’s clearly taken advantage of his absence. This was a fight that Javier remembers on the outskirts of his memories from before he’d bonded with Yuzuru. Yuzuru came to the Cricket Club and thought that he needed desperately to make up for lost time. Brian thought that his way of practicing was dangerous and inefficient. For a while, Yuzuru tried to ignore Brian’s judgement, which is similar to what he’s doing currently with Javier. The skater in question doesn’t say anything in response and skates the entry into his quad sal and falls over again.

“Yuzuru, stop this,” Javier demands.

The other skater grits his teeth and moves as a tiny storm cloud to the sound system on Javier’s left, aggressively pushing the play button. He whips back around and tries to run through the opening again. Javier unplugs the iPod.

Yuzuru stumbles and turns a blazing glower onto Javier. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you from killing yourself,” Javier deadpans.

“I’m fine,” Yuzuru growls, darting out a hand for his iPod.

Javier sees it coming and slips the music player into his pocket. He grabs onto Yuzuru’s wrists, the slim bones shackled by his fingers. Yuzuru begins to kick his feet against the ice, yelling at Javier in Japanese, English beyond his reach in anger.

“Why are you doing this?” Javier asks, tightening his hold and raising his voice to be heard over Yuzuru’s own protests.

Yuzuru’s head snaps up as if tugged by an invisible string from the sky. Javier can see him struggling to calm down enough to put passion into words. “Because need prove as national champ. Need do good at Worlds. Lost at Four Continents. I need to be better.”

These words come harsh as if each syllable were a gunshot. Javier never thought about the type of pressure Yuzuru must be under. Javier comes from a small federation from a country that cares way more about soccer than anything else. Javier looks at those shoulders quaking with frustration and exhaustion and thinks that they aren’t suited for these mantles. They’re far too slim, far too young. His lapse in concentration is enough for Yuzuru to escape and return to his suicidal jumping practice.

Javier walks out onto the ice without a care for the state of his tennis shoes. He steps right in front of Yuzuru, not allowing him to run away. “You think you’ll be any good injured?”

“Stop, Javier. I’m okay.” Yuzuru refuses to meet Javier’s eyes.

“You think you’ll be able to win anything with a sprained ankle?”

“Did it before,” Yuzuru spits out.

Javier doesn’t let up. “What about a broken hip or foot?”

“Doesn’t matter. I need practice now!”

“This isn’t a good practice. This is reckless and stupid, and you’re acting like a little kid!”

By the end of this argument, the two of them are nose to nose and practically screaming at each other in the otherwise silent rink. Javier glares up at Yuzuru and resents that the younger skater is so much taller in his boots. Yuzuru has always had a flair for drama and holds true even in rage. He is all narrowed eyes and hissed words, brandishing anger as if it were a physical weapon.

“Go home, Yuzuru,” Javier says breaking their stand-off. “And I’m texting your mom, too. I doubt she knows you’re here.”

There must be something in Javier’s low tone that tells Yuzuru that he’s serious because after one more beat of time, the Japanese skater springs into action, racing off the ice. He packs up his things in record time and before Javier can think to return the iPod, Yuzuru is long gone.

Javier follows at a much more leisurely pace out of the rink and grimaces at the way his shoes squelch with moisture. He sighs, feeling more exhausted by this confrontation than his entire practice.

The next day, Javier arrives at the Cricket Club, and he can see Yuzuru chatting with Tracy through the windows of the lounge. Javier runs the pad of his thumb along the engraving on the iPod in his pocket. He’d noticed it last night, the tiny AAA. He should ask Yuzuru about it. After he stops being mad at Javier, that is.

The Spaniard pushes the door open and is welcomed by the chilled air. Tracy waves hello while Yuzuru refuses to look at him. Javier rolls his eyes at the pettiness, but it’s about what he expected. Javier doesn’t spare the other skater anymore attention and simply begins changing into his skates. Glancing up once more to make sure Yuzuru isn’t paying attention, Javier places the iPod next to Yuzuru’s water and goes out onto the ice himself.

Javier directs all his energy into practice, listening closely to all of Tracy’s suggestions. He does so well at focusing that he almost manages to forget entirely about their fight. Well, almost. When Yuzuru approaches him during a break, it doesn’t take him long to remember.

“Hello,” Yuzuru says, clearing his throat awkwardly. He has his hands curled around his iPod in front of him.

“Hey,” Javier responds coldly.

This seems to put a damper on whatever Yuzuru was planning to do. He pouts and reluctantly admits, “You’re right.”

Javier has to bite his lip to hold back a smug smirk. He leans closer, pretending to not hear the muttered confession. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“You’re right,” Yuzuru repeats, louder this time. “Brian would not have like. Sorry for yelling.”

“Well, I’m glad you see that now.” Javier sounds relieved despite his efforts to act aloof. He decides to give it up and smiles up at Yuzuru. “We okay?”

“Yes.” Yuzuru nods eagerly.

“Oh yeah,” Javier says before Yuzuru can leave, pointing at his hands. “I wanted to ask. What does the AAA mean?”

Yuzuru lights up, proudly showing the back of device so that Javier can see the engraving, and says, “3A. Triple axel.”

Javier shakes his head, chuckling. Of course, what else could it be?

“C’mon, let’s get back to it.”

—

It’s the second day of official practice, and Yuzuru is staring at the boards with an unwarranted focus.

“Everything okay?” Javier asks, turning his head to the side to try and follow the line of sight.

Yuzuru points at the word ‘London’ emblazoned along the inside of the rink. “London is city in England, right?”

“Yeah,” Javier answers. His lips curve in amusement. So that’s what this is about.

“But this London in Canada.” Yuzuru spins around on the ice to face the words printed on their side. He bends over and squints at it. “Spell same, too.”

“Yeah.”

“But why?”

Javier rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, man. It doesn’t matter.”

“Fake London close to Toronto. That’s good. No time problem,” Yuzuru finally decides, freeing the boards from his intense scrutiny.

He laughs. “Fake London?”

“Yes,” Yuzuru insists, grinning happily at his silly moniker. “Is in Canada so fake.”

That’s when an announcer comes on through the arena speakers, giving the skaters a warning that they will begin playing short program music for run throughs. All the levity seems to have been sapped from Yuzuru’s body, and he slips into his usual competitive mindset. It appears that Yuzuru is entering that mood where nothing matters except the ice and his skates. That’s fine with Javier as he shakes out the jitters from his arms and prepares for his own run through. They’re friends, sure, but at the end of the day, everyone wants those medals.

—

It’s been a long day, and Javier is looking forward to a hot shower back at the hotel. He’s hurriedly passing through the hallway backstage, and he almost misses it. Yuzuru is also backstage and has his Pooh bear dangling loosely from one hand as he stares at a TV screen with the short program listing.

For a second, Javier thinks he’s simply upset over his placing. 9th place. Not exactly the ideal for someone striving for Olympic Gold. Javier almost approaches him because 7th isn’t much better than 9th. Maybe they can mope together. Then, Yuzuru raises one hand, pointing at the number next to Daisuke Takahashi’s name. Slowly, he moves it down to his own.

That’s how Javier discerns what exactly Yuzuru is agonizing over. Olympic spots. Four and nine. After the short program, Japan is in danger of losing their three men’s spots. Javier stops walking toward his friend and just stares at the pain and desperation etched across his face. Javier’s pathetically glad when Alex calls him over from down the hall, and he has an excuse to leave. He wouldn’t know what to say to Yuzuru anyway.

However, that look sticks with Javier for the rest of the night. Yuzuru had looked as if the world were crumbling and someone had told him that he was the one responsible for holding it together. Javier has nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t.

—

Javier isn't certain how he got here. He is the World Championship Bronze Medalist and as he skates the customary lap, he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing there. He never had the boundless confidence and conviction that seems to come with other athletes. It’s like he just followed Laura to practice one day and forgot to leave.

He tightens his grip on the bouquet, half-strangling the long stems, and he remembers a conversation with Maia. They were sitting in the hotel lobby, awaiting her brother’s arrival before they ventured out to eat. She had her legs pulled up onto the sofa and rested her head gently upon her knees. Her eyes were closed, but there was a redness to them, evident even through her cheery smile. They hadn’t skated well.

“We’re in London. It’s a lovely city, don’t you think?” Maia asked, opening her eyes to stare out at the snowy streets through the clear revolving doors.

“It’s really pretty.”

Maia hummed. “Alex and I went sightseeing before the competition started. Have you had a chance yet?”

“No, not yet,” Javier answered honestly.

“You definitely should.” Maia sniffed quietly, and Javier braced himself for the water works, but they never came. She merely turned those sad eyes onto him and asked, “Did you ever think figure skating would take you so far?”

“Nope. Never even thought I’d make it out of novice,” Javier joked.

This made Maia crack a smile. “Yet here we are.” She nodded solemnly to herself, pressing her lips together. “I think we’re very lucky.”

Javier knows that she didn’t just mean competitively. She means all of it. The travel and the people and the opportunities, and Javier agrees. They are very, very lucky.

Sometimes Javier thinks that maybe the only reason he stuck with figure skating for so long is because it was a sure-fire way to take him away. He’s reconciled himself with his hometown now, which sounds strange because how do you enter a conflict with a location in the first place? But that’s how Javier felt. He felt suffocated by Madrid and his neighborhood with its square buildings and gray, billowing linens. Skating took him all around the world. Most importantly, it took him from a city that was smothering him. He needed to leave Madrid to love it, to embrace the skyline he never knew he would miss until it was gone.

Sometimes Javier thinks that he stumbled into skating. Make of that what you will since he now has a Worlds medal to show for it. Whatever his reasons for skating might’ve been, he thinks that after all these years he can finally say that he loves skating for the sake of the ice and the music and the way humans momentarily forgo gravity.

—

“Congratulations,” Cortney says, coming off as forced even through the phone. “I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t sound very happy,” Javier notes blankly.

“I am,” Cortney insists. She sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, and I have a headache. I think I’m just going to go to bed. I am happy for you though, really. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Goodnight I guess.” Javier feels oddly empty about this whole exchange.

“Goodnight,” she says, hanging up immediately.

Glaring at his phone, Javier thinks bitterly that this isn’t how he wanted to end his night as Worlds Bronze Medalist. He’d gotten back to the hotel room that night positively brimming with excitement. He would’ve phone his mother too if it weren’t for the fact that it would be the middle of the night over there. He entertains the thought of taking up Meryl’s invitation to go drinking with them, but that one phone call has sapped all his eagerness for loud crowds and rowdy parties.

“Fuck this,” Javier mutters to himself.

He refuses to spend his night after such a wonderful day, wallowing alone in his room. He grabs his coat and scarf from the bed and goes looking for the person that he knows for sure doesn’t have any other plans. Javier makes it to Yuzuru’s hotel door in record time in his restlessness and knocks firmly.

The door opens and Javier doesn’t wait for Yuzuru to say anything before he blurts out, “Let’s go sightseeing.”

“What?” Yuzuru asks. Javier notes that he’s still in the clothes he’d worn to dinner, so Javier doesn’t feel as bad about demanding his presence outside.

“Maia said that the docks around the river are really nice. We should go see it,” Javier insists.

“It’s nine.”

“So? Nine isn’t that late.” Javier’s filled with a frantic energy despite the long day of practices and performances. Time doesn’t factor into this.

Yuzuru hesitates, his sharp eyes catching the way Javier’s foot is tapping and the messy hair that has been run through many times with frustration. Something is off about Javier, and Yuzuru can tell.

“Wait,” the Japanese skater says, retreating into the room. Javier hears a short conversation between mother and son, and soon Yuzuru has joined him in the hallway with his coat and face mask on. “Where going?”

“The river,” Javier responds vaguely.

He’s not entirely sure if he’s being honest, but he knows the general direction of the docks, and he knows that he’s not quite ready for the day to end yet. He’s waiting for something. He just doesn’t know what yet.

They walk in companionable silence out of the hotel to the bus station along the road. Yuzuru lets Javier handle the map system and sits down.

“I think we can take this bus.” Javier traces a blue line on the map, trailing his finger to the Thames River. “And get off in four stops.”

Yuzuru nods and pats the bench for Javier to take a seat as well. They talk like they usually do, as if it were another day in Toronto instead of after the biggest competition all season. They talk about video games and food, anything and everything that is not ice skating for now. It keeps on this way until they get off the bus.

Javier is babbling about something, maintaining a commentary on their surroundings that somehow manages to say absolutely nothing. Eventually, they reach the river and Javier quiets down in order to take in the scenery around them. The sidewalk along the bank is a nice yellow, gold from the cast of the lampposts and is bordered from the water by black railings. Javier steps forward to the very edge and takes a deep breath.

Yuzuru sits down with a sharp sigh, rubbing at his knee. Javier wants to smack himself. He’d been so wrapped up in his own mood that he’d completely forgotten about Yuzuru’s injury. Now that he thinks about it, Yuzuru was definitely limping a bit towards the end of their walk.

“Shit,” Javier curses. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Yuzuru insists, straightening up in his seat as if to show exactly how fine he is. “Sit for a minute and I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Yuzuru nods and opens an arm out to the river. “Happy to be here. Maia right. Very pretty.”

The lights from stores and ships glance off the surface of the water and shimmer with the swift currents. The music of people laughing waltzes out of restaurants and the skies have cleared the clouds for those few stars diligent enough to fight their way down to the thousands of people within their already illuminated city. It is, indeed, very pretty.

“Congratulations,” Yuzuru whispers, muffled by his face mask.

Javier wants to laugh. How is it that within thirty minutes he’s received two dejected congratulations? He doesn’t laugh though because it’s not that funny. It’s kind of sad, objectively speaking. Yuzuru had a rough skate with the falls and the crashes into the boards. He ended up being able to hold onto Japan’s Olympic spots, but he also ended up collapsed on the ice after the last note.

“Thank you, and good job to you, too. Third in the free skate.”

Yuzuru shakes his head. “No, not enough.”

“Right,” Javier mumbles, letting his head drop until all he can see is the river below dancing with colors.

It’s not enough. Javier wonders what happened to him. Last year he would’ve been more than satisfied with a podium finish but now he finds himself thinking that he could’ve skater calmer, cleaner, better.

“Next season different.” Yuzuru’s wrings his hands tightly in his lap. “Have be different. Is Olympics.”

“Well, next season is next season,” Javier says, trying to sound casual and hiding the bubble of panic rising in his chest. The idea of the Olympics didn’t manage to feel real until this moment. It’s as a good time as any to admit that Javier is scared shitless. Dear God, he's the bronze medalist now. People will be _expecting things from him_.

Yuzuru nods, peering out at all the liveliness on opposite bank with half-lidded eyes. “Fake London is nice.”

Javier does laugh this time at the utter sincerity with which Yuzuru proclaims his judgement on this ‘Fake London.’

“Okay, kid, I think it’s past your bedtime now,” Javier teases, dodging out of the way of Yuzuru’s fist at the kid part. “Let’s head back. I’m tired, too.”

Yuzuru seems to have been reminded of his exhaustion and yawns loudly. He taps a fist against his left knee as if chastising it for misbehaving and gets up. He doesn’t quite manage to disguise his wince as he sets his leg down.

Javier is hit by a rush of guilt and offers his right arm to Yuzuru. “Here, you can use my arm.”

The younger skater is reluctant at first but eventually loops his arm through Javier’s and shifts so the Spaniard is supporting part of his weight. They continue like this, arm in arm, back to the hotel. Maybe everything is changing but for now Javier has a bronze medal, the stars in the Thames River, and a walk with a dear friend through a beautiful, fake city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, can you believe we made it thru the wildest season of men's figure skating?? Now we just have WTT and then it'll be Olympic Season of Death! Once more, thank you to anyone who comments even if I don't respond eloquently or in a timely manner. I really appreciate all of y'all!
> 
> Also if you would like to talk to me about figure skating and all that jazz, you can message me on tumblr @secondwednesday!


	8. nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic that is becoming much longer than anticipated: birthdays (again), homesickness, the curative properties of baseball, reunions, and how things end

“Hey, my birthday is this Monday,” Javier announces as they remove their skates at the end of a short practice. There's not a lot to work on so early in the off season, and Yuzuru's still nursing his knee injury.

“Really?” Yuzuru perks up. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah,” Javier pauses, trying to phrase this in a way that wouldn’t scare Yuzuru away. “There’s gonna be a birthday dinner. You can come, if you want.”

Yuzuru freezes, blinks owlishly, and presses his index finger to his sternum. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Are you sure? English is…” Yuzuru trails off, rocking a hand side-to-side like a seesaw.

“I’m sure. It’ll be fine.” Javier acts on instinct and grabs Yuzuru’s hand in his own. “Please, it’s my birthday.”

Yuzuru huffs quietly and says in a voice that is clearly meant to imitate Javier, “Stop pouting.”

Javier laughs. The other skater missed the Madrileno accent by quite a bit, but Javier has said those words to Yuzuru enough times with indignant protests to know what Yuzuru is trying to do.

Javier sticks out his bottom lip even more exaggeratedly. “I will if you come.”

“Fine, will ask Mom,” Yuzuru relents, pulling his hand away.

“I’ll text you the time and address,” Javier says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

The Japanese skater returns to his skates but not before catching Javier’s smug expression. He points an impervious finger at Javier and says, “No promise!”

Javier knows that Yuzuru said no promises. He also knows that the boy is an incurable homebody, but that doesn’t stop Javier from making sure that the chair across from him at the long table is kept vacant or from checking the entrance to the restaurant every couple of minutes come Monday.

He truly isn’t sure if Yuzuru is going to show because they’ll hang out sometimes at the end of their joint practices or during competitions but that’s more from convenience than anything else. They don’t organized to spend time together entirely separate from the rink. The only times Javier can think of that happening in almost a year of knowing each other was the failed poutine adventure and the dinner at the Hanyu’s apartment.

“Hey, is your training mate coming?” Sara asks, leaning across the table to be heard.

Sara is small in stature but makes up for it by being a formidable force of organization and was actually the one who found the Mediterranean restaurant and made the reservations. Most of the people gathered are skaters in some form or another, but not all of them. Sara studies economics and does more with numbers than Javier can even wrap his mind around, and Javier is suitably terrified of her. As much as Javier loves skating, he finds that he also likes it when he can relax with people who know nothing about it.

“I think so,” Javier replies. He catches Elene’s eye further down the table. She also casts a look between the empty seat and the door and shrugs.

With impeccable timing, that’s when Yuzuru finally arrives. He looks harried and bewildered so Javier waves to get his attention.

He pulls out the seat left for him and says, “Sorry late. Lost on bus.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you made it,” Javier assures.

“Hey, Yuzuru, right? I’m Dave,” Dave says, sticking out his hand for an introduction before Yuzuru was even completely settled in his seat.

“Yes, nice to meet you.” Yuzuru inclines his head politely, taking the offered hand.

Javier hides his smile at Yuzuru’s wide eyes in the rim of his glass. Dave is ridiculously outgoing, which makes him the best person to take the spot next to Yuzuru. The loud man isn’t a skater either. He’s works with music and sound or something like that. He’s Javier’s downstairs neighbor, who made it a mission to befriend the newest arrival to Canada all the way back in 2011. In fact, Javier met most of the non-skaters gathered here due to Dave’s magnetic personality.

“And how do you like Toronto?” Dave asks.

“Is nice. Bus is hard,” Yuzuru replies sheepishly, referencing his own tardiness.

This has Dave tilting his head back in his chair and laughing a sonic boom of a laugh. The motion reveals the headphones draped on his neck, peeking Yuzuru’s curiosity.

He points tentatively towards the headphone. “What kind?”

“Hmm? These?” Dave picks up one side of it and tilts his chin down. “They’re Sony.”

Yuzuru makes an excited noise. “Only have one Sony. Is for like TV or music su-stu-”

“Studio?”

“Yes!” Yuzuru claps, sounding out the word carefully. “Studio. Sound is clean.”

“So you’re into sound technology?” Dave asks, suitably impressed and a little surprised to find someone at the table who shares such a niche interest.

Yuzuru nods and pulls out a pair of earphones from his pocket. “Use these when on bus or plane. Sound is.” Forsaking words altogether, Yuzuru cups his hands by his ears, making domes with them.

Dave miraculously gets it. He takes one look at the bluetooth earphone laid out on the table and hums. “You’re right. These give like a muffled feel, but as far as bluetooth goes, they’re pretty good about surround sound.”

This is the point when Javier stops listening because the two audiophiles have devolved into technical terms that Yuzuru Google translates with hit-or-miss accuracy. After knowing that Yuzuru has been settled, Javier can let out a breath of relief, and the rest of dinner goes off without a hitch. The food is great as expected of a choice made by Sara, the cake that Cortney bought was fantastic as well, and everyone was simply getting along.

The only spot of awkwardness was when Elene brought up Yuzuru’s world record.

“Damn, so you’re like Michael Phelps or some shit?” Dave asked incredulously. The two cans have beer had certainly loosened his foul language.

“Who?” Yuzuru replied.

Dave is definitely a bit of a lightweight and plowed on ahead, ignoring Yuzuru’s question. “Wow, and how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“What the fuck? When I was eighteen I was still living with my parents.”

“I live with Mom in Toronto, too.”

There was a pause where Yuzuru was confused and Dave was too tipsy to formulate the type of articulate response he normally has that could dissipate the tension. Thankfully, the checks soon arrived, and the topic was forgotten about.

Javier sighs contently as they all stand up from the long table and considers the night an overall success. He thanks everyone for coming and accepts a barrage of final hugs and well wishes. In the chaos, he loses sight of Cortney. He shrugs to himself. She’s probably gone to the bathroom or something.

“Javi,” a soft voice says from behind him. Yuzuru is standing some feet away with his hands behind his back.

“Yuzu, did you have fun?”

“Yes, thank you for invite.” Yuzuru clears his throat and moves his hands. His fingers are curled around a small cloth bag, pushing it towards Javier. “Present.”

Javier unties the drawstring and tips it open. A bracelet slides out. It’s a simple string circlet, braided through with yellow and red. It’s nothing major but it warms something in Javier’s ribcage and he can’t stop beaming.

“It’s Spain color. For good luck.”

“Thank you.” Javier pockets the bag and holds the gift in his open palm. “Can you help me put it on?”

Yuzuru nods, stepping closer and handling the string with nimble fingers. Javier’s eyes linger on the glass bracelet he’d gotten Yuzuru just that year and chuckles. A good luck charm each. Yuzuru ties it to Javier’s left wrist with a double knot and then pats his pulse point twice before moving away.

“I need go. Is late now.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Javier teases. “You won’t get lost again?”

Yuzuru doesn’t miss a beat and punches Javier’s shoulder. “Stop it.”

“And don’t ride with your fancy earphones in. You’ll miss the station call.”

Yuzuru colors quickly at Javier’s words, which doesn’t not go unnoticed.

“Wait a second. Is that why you were late today?” Javier laughs, clasping a hand on Yuzuru’s shoulder to steady himself. “I can’t believe you missed your stop because you were too busy listening to music.”

“Not funny.” Yuzuru lies as the twitch of his mouth belies his amusement. He sniffs delicately. “Could have died.”

“Yeah, because there are axe murderers on the buses just waiting for you to miss your stop,” Javier responds, laying on the sarcasm so thick that even Yuzuru has to get it.

“Yes,” Yuzuru nods with an air of false authority. “Very dangerous. You are lucky I am here and not dead.”

Javier rolls his eyes. “Thank you for being so brave to come to my birthday dinner.”

“You’re welcome. You were right. Was nice.”

“Yuzuru Hanyu admitting I was right? Can I record that?” Javier jokes, pulling out his phone.

Yuzuru opens his mouth, no doubt to tell Javier to shut up, when Cortney returns. She links her arm through Javier’s and says, “Honey, it’s getting late.”

“I need go before Mom worry. Thank you for English help, Cortney,” Yuzuru says, giving a small bow to Cortney. “Goodnight.”

Soon Cortney and Javier are the only two left at the table. The lampshades and the cherry wood give the whole restaurant a warm feeling. Between that and all the infectious joy of his friends, Javier can almost forget how he and Cortney haven’t had a real conversation in months. It also stops him from seeing how her smile never quite reached her eyes the whole night.

—

In his apartment living room in the cool morning light, Javier wraps his arms around Cortney’s waist and leans down to kiss her. Only, she pulls back and turns her face away. He falters, and she says, “Javi, we need to talk.”

“Okay.” Javier backs away from her. His stomach feels like a leaden weight, and he doesn’t like where this is going.

Cortney takes a couple deep breaths. Then, the words come out of her loudly and all in one go as if propelled by some unknown force. “I think we should break up.”

“What?”

He watches as Cortney sags and drops onto the couch. She adamantly stares at the carpet while Javier feels all of three-inches tall.

“I think we should break up,” Cortney says much quieter this time. She finally lifts her gaze to Javier, and her eyes are watery. He doesn’t think it’s fair for her to be crying if she’s dumping him.

“Cortney, please.” He steps towards her with one hand raised awkwardly, unsure whether he should touch her right now. “Why so suddenly?”

Cortney buries her face in her hands and makes a desperate noise caught between a laugh and a sob. She looks up at him through her fingers. “Is this really so sudden?”

“What do you mean?” Javier’s pretty good at English. It’s been a long time since he’s completely misunderstood people in daily conversations, but he thinks that might be what’s happening right now because his brain is having a hard time catching up.

“Javier.” Wringing her hands in her lap, she offers him a wry smile. “We have fun together, but that’s kind of it. Don’t you think relationships need to be built on more than that?”

“So you’re breaking up with me because we have a good time? That’s ridiculous.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain it to me,” Javier pleads, collapsing into the armchair diagonal to Cortney. He leans forward towards her with his elbows braced on his thighs, and he silently begs for this to all make sense soon.

Cortney screws her eyes shut and breathes deeply, searching for the words. “We have fun together, but that’s it.” She holds up a hand when it looks like Javier is going to interrupt. “No, let me finish. This season was so stressful for the both of us, and you got through it even better than you were before, and I haven’t. We’ve been fighting so much because we don’t know how to be around the other person when it isn’t fun and silly.”

“We can always work on that,” Javier protests, but the more Cortney talks the more he seems to lose track of what he’s even fighting for. If he really thinks about it, she’s right. So why is he still trying?

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head, and she looks so small and sad with her shoulders turned inward and her eyes downcast. “We’re in very different places right now. You have a Worlds medal, and the Olympics are a real possibility for you next year, and I—” Cortney becomes choked up. Tears fall onto the hands that she’s curled into fists in her lap. “I don’t know if I’m going to keep skating.”

“Oh, Cortney,” Javier breathes slowly, and he forgets the essence of their conversation for a second and moves on instinct to comfort a crying girl. He kneels in front of her and takes her hands into his. “Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about this?”

“Because,” Cortney smiles weakly through her tears. “I didn’t know how. We aren’t serious together. That just isn’t us. Am I wrong?”

He shakes his head mutely. She isn’t wrong. Javier can’t really imagine confiding in Cortney for this kind of stuff either.

“We started dating because we’re young, and we have fun together. I don’t think either of us expected something more,” Cortney continues, and Javier thinks he might be hearing her for the first time. “I don’t think I’ll stay with Daryn for the next season. I don’t even know if I’ll keep going. Skating is so hard. You have to give it your all even if you don’t get anything back. It breaks your heart, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

She trails off, and Javier listens to her quiet sniffling and his own even breaths. He understands what she’s saying about ice skating, but at the same time he doesn’t get it at all. He’s finally gotten to a taste of winning this season and he couldn’t imagine giving up the exhilaration of competition for anything.

“You’re different.” She reaches down and cradles his cheek, and this is achingly familiar. “You’re just getting started, and you can’t help me through this. I don’t want to be dating someone through this. I need to figure it out for myself, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, momentarily leaning into her hand.

“Besides.” Cortney grins widely, trying to muster back her iconic cheerfulness and optimism, and ruffles his hair. “I’m sure you’ll be alright, and I’ll be rooting for you at the Olympics so don’t let me down.”

Javier isn’t really sure what happens afterwards. Some awkward shuffling, some goodbyes, and then Cortney is gone. He thinks that Cortney apologizes before shutting the door, but he really can’t remember the specifics. He moves in a daze. He doesn’t think he’s even all that sad. He feels left in a lurch. The reality that he knew for over a year is now changed irreversibly. He knows that everything Cortney said was true, but maybe he just wanted something to stay the same. Everything is changing. Sometimes Javier can feel himself changing, and he’s scared.

Cortney was right. He’ll be alright, but for now he makes some hot chocolate and calls his sister, wallows in sweatpants and complains the way he’s always done after break ups.

“C’mon, Effie,” Javier coos, patting the spot next to him on the couch. The cat jumps up gracefully to take her spot and purrs against her owner’s side.

Javier takes some small comfort in the things that are still the same.

—

The birthday dinner breaks some sort of barrier for them, so now it’s become another part of life in Toronto for Javier to drop by the Hanyu’s for dinner when he doesn’t feel like cooking or for Yuzuru to play and beat Javier at every video game in his own apartment. It slips into their routine as if it were there all along. Today’s activity is different. Real Madrid is playing, and Javier is determined to show Yuzuru the light. The light in this case being the marvels of soccer and Sergio Ramos.

It’s halftime, and Real Madrid is down two. Javier groans, leaning back against the sofa. Javier, like most soccer fans, loses all sense of surroundings when the game gets intense so it’s only now that he notices Yuzuru. More importantly, he notices that Yuzuru is on his phone instead of paying attention to the TV.

“Hey, you said you would watch football with me if I played your video game,” Javier complains, swatting a hand at Yuzuru’s phone. It was a true sacrifice, too. Javier had never even heard of the game before and it was all in Japanese. The only thing to do was let Yuzuru beat him over and over again until the other skater got bored.

Yuzuru jerks out of the way and protests, “I am! It’s halftime and slow.”

“Football is not slow,” Javier replies, properly offended.

“Okay, okay, watching now,” Yuzuru shoots back, putting his phone away. His pale face turns to Javier with eyebrows raised. “Happy?”

“Yuzu, are you okay?” Javier asks, bumping their shoulders together. There’s an extra edge to Yuzuru’s tone, a snappish quality that doesn’t belong.

Yuzuru sighs, his entire chest heaving with the magnitude of it. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re okay,” Javier comments. That type of sighing does not belong on anyone in the remote vicinity of okay.

“I miss Japan,” Yuzuru finally confesses while staring the way his knuckles turn white when he grips really tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Javier says, and he means it. Feeling homesick is never easy. It grabs hold of you and doesn’t let go for hours, sometimes days. “What can I do to help?”

Yuzuru shrugs despondently as Javier lays his hands on top of Yuzuru’s, forcing the younger skater to ease his hold before he starts cutting off the circulation.

“Well, what do you miss most right now? Maybe we can find something like that here,” Javier suggests. That works for him sometimes, watching soccer and eating empanadas.

Yuzuru thinks for a minute and then shakes his head to dismiss the thought. “It’s silly.”

“No, what is it? Tell me,” Javier pushes.

“Don’t know why. Even before leave Japan, didn’t do in years.” Yuzuru chews at his bottom lip. “But before lots of skating competitions, during off season I play baseball with school friends. Miss it a little.”

“You used to play baseball?” Javier asks, more than a little surprised.

Yuzuru nods as he waves a hand at the TV. “Game start again.”

Real Madrid rapidly regains all of Javier’s attention, but he also begins wondering where he could find baseball equipment.

—

As luck would have it, Dave still owns the baseball equipment from his college days and was more than okay with letting Javier borrow it. So on Saturday, Javier is on his way to Yuzuru’s home with a bat slung over one shoulder and a drawstring bag holding mitts, some bottled water, and a baseball.

Javier rings the doorbell and waits. He feels infinitely misplaced. He was definitely a soccer kid and has never played baseball in his life. He isn’t sure if he’s holding the bat totally wrong and someone’s going to loudly point it out and laugh at him. He’s glad that he isn’t in America. At least Canadians don’t really care about baseball either.

The door opens and the moment Javier can determine that it’s Yuzuru at the door, he exclaims, “Surprise!”

Yuzuru jumps back and regards Javier with suspicion. “What?”

“We’re going to play baseball,” Javier says, shoving the bat at Yuzuru.

“What? Where?” 

“Turns out there’s actually a field near your house so we’re going there. C’mon,” Javier urges.

Yuzuru debates his options for a long pause and sighs. He sticks his head back into the apartment and says something to Yumi. The older woman peeks her head into the hallway and waves happily at Javier, giving her blessing for her son to leave.

Javier leads the way with confident strides, juggling Yuzuru’s a million and one questions with practiced ease at this point. As they get settled on the bus and Javier has recounted the number of stops before they get off, Yuzuru asks, “Where did Javi get bat?”

“Dave let me borrow it.”

“Dave,” Yuzuru says with an excited smile.

“Yes, yes, that Dave,” Javier replies, rolling his eyes. “He also wanted me to tell you about the newest Sony headphone. He got a pair for work and said that you could try it the next time you come by.”

“Dave is very nice,” Yuzuru declares, tapping a cheerful rhythm into the side of the wooden bat.

The two had formed an unexpected bond since Javier’s birthday, and often Dave would have Javier pass on messages to Yuzuru or he would stop the Japanese skater on the stairs in the building to chat. It’s actually amusing to witness. Dave is loud and crass while Yuzuru is unfailingly polite. Javier's just glad that Yuzuru is finding more people that he can talk to in Toronto.

When they get to the field, it is empty. Javier squints against the bright sun and fumbles around in his pocket for his sunglasses. The late May sun beats down relentlessly. Javier sighs. That’s probably why there aren’t any kids out right now. No one in their right mind would think to play baseball at high noon.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to teach me how to play,” Javier says as they enter the blessedly cool shade of the coach’s box.

He tosses the bag to Yuzuru who fumbles to catch it without dropping the bat and gets a glare for his efforts. Yuzuru sits down, leans the bat against the bench, and begins unpacking the bag. He sets out the water and pulls on one of the mitts and hands the other to Javier.

“It’s been years since play,” Yuzuru explains.

Javier scoffs. “Still better off than me.”

Yuzuru nods to himself with determination. He stands up, pushes the bat into Javier’s hands, and begins shoving him towards home plate. He’s babbling something about the game that only half-makes it into English. Nevertheless, Javier is soon set up to bat while Yuzuru stands on the pitcher’s mound, testing the heft of the ball in his hand.

Yuzuru counts down and pitches the ball. Javier knows that the ball is not moving all that fast but when he swings, he catches nothing but air. His eyes follow the ball as it rolls away with betrayal while a cackling, horse laugh mocks him from the mound. Javier stomps after the stupid ball and tosses it back.

“Again,” Javier demands through grit teeth, lowering his stance and bringing the bat close to his shoulder.

Javier and Yuzuru might not play a contact sport but let it not be said that they aren’t competitive people. It is, however, a deeply unbalanced competition with Javier on the disadvantaged side. They switch between batting and pitching with the constants of Javier’s incompetence and Yuzuru’s laughter.

After a while, Yuzuru starts wheezing and they have to take a break. Javier genuinely can’t be sure if it’s more from the game or from how much the younger skater’s been laughing at Javier. Yuzuru assures Javier that he’d taken his medication already and that he’d be fine after a few minutes. Nevertheless, they don’t resume their competition, choosing to simply play catch instead.

The thump of the ball against leather mitts provides a solid rhythm, almost like a heartbeat, and they talk. Yuzuru talks about his favorite baseball team and how he got to pitch the first ball at a game once. Javier talks about how many organs he would sell to get the chance to kick off at a Real Madrid game. Yuzuru, of course, cannot resist bragging about kicking off the Sendai soccer match. They talk about anything and everything. They talk about home, what they miss and what they don’t.

Javier thinks he gets it. Yuzuru doesn't miss baseball as in the game itself, but he misses this. He misses the summer sun of off-seasons and the childish fun that allows you to forget your responsibilities for a bit.

By the time they are riding the bus back home, the sun has dipped below the tallest skyscraper, purpling the sky until it looks like the type of magic that Pixar movies are made of. For the briefest of moments, Yuzuru yawns and rests his head against Javier’s shoulder. They both smell like red dust and sweat and Javier is probably going to have some interesting bruises tomorrow, but it’s all worth it for this brief moment. For Yuzuru to say thank you in the softest whisper and he sounds happier than he has all week since the homesickness hit him.

—

Javier is fortunate enough to have been invited back to The Ice in June. They’re still in preparation at the first city of Nagoya. Javier is aimlessly scrolling through Twitter while he waits for Maia and Alex in the venue lobby when he hears a voice calling his name.

“Javier?” A Japanese woman walks towards him from the entrance. She’s wearing a simple t-shirt and a denim skirt, but Javier still recognizes her.

“Miki.” Javier turns to face her, and it’s not exactly like seeing a ghost but it’s something close.

“Javier, it is you.” Miki smiles broadly. “It’s been long time.”

It has been a long time. Since Morozov really. They used to get along well, but Javier hasn’t exactly kept in touch with anyone from his old rink.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Javier compliments.

“You have. You used to have that hair,” Miki teases.

He groans goodnaturedly. “Please don’t remind me.” Then Javier looks down, and that’s when he notices the baby stroller. “Is this your daughter?”

“Yeah,” Miki answers, the corners of her mouth flattening.

Javier can’t even begin to imagine how hard it’s been for her. He isn’t one for gossip, but it shook the figure skating world when one of its top female skaters pulled out mid-season because of an unplanned pregnancy. Elene was the one who showed him the article months ago, shoving her phone at him and saying, “Apparently, it’s out of wedlock, and she won’t say who the father is.”

At the time, Javier just set her phone onto the bench and ushered her towards the ice with a few phrases about focus and practice that made him feel like Yuzuru. Now, he kneels down next to the stroller and watches the baby sleeping peacefully with a chubby hand fisted in her blanket, completely unaware to the big world out there and all her mother’s woes.

“She’s beautiful.” Javier just barely catches the sigh of relief from Miki. “What’s her name?”

Miki squats down next to Javier, smiling tenderly at her baby girl. “Himawari. It means Sunflower.”

“She’s amazing. Just like her mother,” Javier says with a wink.

“Oh, you’re still such charmer.” She rolls her eyes at him.

“It’s the truth.” He stands and offers Miki a hand up as well. “Are you coming to the show tonight?”

Miki shakes her head. “Come visit Mao. She want to see Himawari.”

“Mao’s still inside practicing I think.” Javier gestures to the rink entrance down the hall.

“Thank you.” Something about her tone tells Javier that she doesn’t just mean the directions. She pushes her stroller forward a bit and then hesitates. She takes a deep breath and says, “Let me give you number. We should catch up while you’re here.”

Javier looks at her right now, and he sees an incredibly strong woman who knows what it means to endure. He also sees someone who is probably tired of enduring and wants to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge.

He smiles and hands her his phone. “I’d love to.”

—

It’s their last day in Nagoya and Javier is sitting at the window of a restaurant that is all light tans and open spaces. Miki had taken care of the ordering for him. He hadn’t noticed the other day, but there are dark circles beneath her eyes and wrinkles at the corner of her mouth that didn’t exist the last time he saw her. He kind of really wants to give her a hug.

“So where’s Himawari?” Javier asks conversationally.

“She’s with her grandma at the park,” Miki answers, smiling unconsciously at the mere mention of her daughter.

“It must be tiring.”

“It is.”

“And you’re thinking about competing again?”

Miki inhales deeply. “Yes, will be hard but I have to try.”

“Why do you have to?” Javier can’t even begin to imagine the stress that will be on her.

“Because if I don’t then I let them win,” Miki answers, raising her head proudly. She doesn’t have to specify who they are. The media hasn’t exactly been kind to her in recent months.

Her phone beeps, interrupting what Javier was planning to say. Her mother had sent over a photo of Himawari at the park. This leads to Javier asking to see more photos of the little girl, and Miki is more than happy to share. The conversation is lighter after that and continues with the same ease for a while.

“Have you talk to Flo since you leave?” Miki asks so suddenly that Javier almost chokes on his food.

He quickly gulps down some water while Miki blinks at him innocently. “No, I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It never came up and it felt weird,” Javier admits, jerking one shoulder in a lopsided shrug.

“Hmm, I think you should talk. It would be good for you,” she advises, tugging at the ends of her hair as she is wont to do when in meaningful contemplation.

“Maybe,” Javier mumbles unconvincingly.

Miki is a sharp woman and doesn’t seem to believe him either, but she doesn’t press the issue.

Before they leave, some time between the dessert and the check, Javier says, “Since you have decided to go back, I wish you all the luck in the world but I hope you know that even the way you are now, I think you’re still the winner here.”

Miki seems astonished for a second, her mouth opened in a small o-shape. Then she glances down at the image of her sleeping daughter on her phone screen and beams. “I am.”

—

Javier picks at the peeling back of his skates and curses quietly.

“Is everything okay?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah, I think I might need new boots soon,” Javier explains. He could maybe get away with lacing them tighter for now at least.

“Make sure you stay on top of that,” Tracy chides. “You don’t want to be caught breaking in new boots in an Olympic season.”

“Got it,” Javier promises, rushing out onto the ice in his restlessness to begin already.

He’s never had boot problems before. He’s sure it’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this out on Javier bday but alas it just didn't happen. Enjoy!


	9. the art of leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic of cathartic self-indulgence: Hernando, warhorses, boot problems, and a series of conversations ranging from silly to emotional

“And then! She has the nerve to act like she didn’t know what was going on the entire time,” Laura complains from the laptop screen placed on his kitchen island.

Javier makes a noise that could be taken for agreement as he bustles about his kitchen, trying to make pancakes. The truth is that he lost track of whether she was talking about Ester or Maria about five minutes ago.

“I really hope they don’t make me work with Selena again,” Laura groans.

Ah, so it was Selena this time. Javier takes the milk out of the fridge and feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles down at a picture of Himawari covered in what looks to be half her dinner.

“Javi, are you even listening to me?” Laura demands. “Who are you texting?”

“Oh, it’s just Miki,” Javier answers nonchalantly, using one hand to shoot back a response.

“Miki Ando?”

“Yeah.”

“Javi.” Laura’s tone is patronizing to say the least and Javier has to hide his eye-roll at whatever’s about to come next. “You and Cortney just broke up.”

Javier nearly drops the damn milk. “Laura, it is not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Laura challenges, leaning back with her arms crossed.

“No, it’s not,” Javier insists, glaring at his sister. Maybe that’ll get his point across. “If you must know, I think Miki just needs a friend right now. Besides, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“If you’re so sure,” she says, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“I am.” Javier places the milk carton onto the table with more force than is strictly necessary. “And you need to mind your own business. What’s the story with Hernando anyway?”

Laura groans again, dropping her face into her hands. “Don’t even get me started,” she says as she proceeds to get started on a long winded tale of misunderstandings, mail, and why Hernando is a jackass.

Laura is horrifyingly perceptive and terrible at minding her own business. It’s why she always has so many stories accumulated by the time they remember to Skype each other. Javier was telling the truth though. He isn’t ready for another relationship, and he doesn’t think Miki is either. Laura must’ve sensed this because she let it go. When his sister actually catches him in a lie, she is like a dog with a bone. It’s a pain in the ass to deal with.

Pain or not, she is his sister, and he laughs so hard that he almost burns the pancakes as she treats him to the latest installment of her cranky old neighbor and the fat duck that’s taken up residence outside her building.

—

Javier arrives at practice one day to the overly familiar chords of Romeo and Juliet and to David Wilson critiquing the choreography from rinkside with his hands on his hips. Javier walks up next to him and coughs pointedly.

“I don’t want to hear it, Javi,” David warns.

The Spaniard cracks up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, but I know you were thinking it.” David wags a finger in Javier’s face. “Weren’t you?”

“Okay, yes I was,” Javier relents. “I thought you said you weren't going to choreograph another Romeo and Juliet.”

Javier remembers David ranting and raving at him back in April about a certain Japanese skater with a stubborn streak a mile wide and no taste for anything that isn’t a warhorse. That skater is currently running through a warhorse routine choreographed by none other than David.

David sighs, sinking his entire neck into his scarf. “He wrote me this whole letter. Who even writes letters nowadays? Where did he find someone to translate all that for him?” The choreographer’s voice takes on a rather shrill quality at the rhetorical questions and Javier has to bite his lips to stifle his snickers. “It was a whole letter begging me to do the choreography. He said that he would die trying to win the gold medal at Sochi. What was I supposed to do, Javi?”

Javier only laughs louder because isn’t that just the most typical thing? He wouldn’t say that he expected something like this, but it’s not exactly surprising either.

Yuzuru skates up to David, breathless and sweaty. “Good?”

“It was fine. Remember your posture. I know you’re tired but you can’t let your shoulders start dipping so much.”

Yuzuru’s eyes flit towards the ceiling as he takes the time to process the English. Then he nods somberly. He proceeds to round on Javier. “What are you doing? Why not change into skates?”

Javier scowls. More at the exaggeratedly loud laughs of David than the lecture—he is shamefully used to those by now. Javier glares at the older man whose graying eyebrows seem to say, _“You’re going down with me.”_

Yuzuru takes no heed of this silent exchange and pushes Javier towards the locker rooms. “Change. Then train. Stop waste time.”

Both David and Javier are chuckling this time. As much as this season is going to be intense for all of them, it’s comforting to know that within the Cricket Club they are all there to encourage and support each other. Competition is a tumultuous whirlwind but here? They are solid and sure.

—

Nam crouches next to Javier at the break room table, his ratty tennis shoes balancing on the hard plastic seat beneath him so that he is perched like an over-excitable parakeet in a pet shop. His eyes dart back and forth as he whispers, “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Javier taps away at the game on his phone. It’s rare that Nam comes up with anything actually interesting when he gets like this.

“Elene left.”

“What?’ Javier’s head snaps toward the kid.

“She moved to Jersey. She doesn’t get coached by the Cricket Club anymore,” Nam explains, dropping from his crouched position. He lands on the seat with a thump.

“I didn’t know about this.”

“Yeah, she didn’t talk with any of the other skaters. Didn’t wanna do the goodbyes and stuff.”

Javier certainly thinks he would’ve liked a goodbye. Elene was here even before him, and he likes to think that they’re friends. Javier’s no stranger to moving and leaving—he’d definitely done his fair share of both with Morozov—but he supposes that in his time in Toronto, he’s grown used to this sedentary routine. Javier unclenches his fists and pats Nam on the head, leading him out of the break room on the promise of vending machine snacks. As Javier punches a random button, he concludes rather anti-climatically that while he has been content to remain, it appears that not everyone else has. Javier had foolishly forgotten this fact.

—

“Yuzu, Yuzu, watch my routine next!” Nam pleads, tugging on the arm of his friend.

“Hey, what am I?” Javier knocks on the top of Nam’s head.

Nam smacks Javier’s hand away. “You’ve seen it already. Yuzu hasn’t yet.”

“I can watch, Nam. Do your best,” Yuzuru interjects placatingly.

The kid makes a face at Javier and runs off to take center ice. Yuzuru exchanges silent nods with Nam and presses the play button on the stereo system. The quiet strings of Bach pierce the rink and Nam starts to skate. His two training mates applaud politely at each jumping pass even when Nam falters or falls. Another David Wilson piece to round off their trifecta.

“Like your program,” Yuzuru whispers as Nam does his combination spin.

Javier hadn’t exactly asked Yuzuru to watch him like Nam did, but he was practicing it today and Yuzuru’s seen it many times by now. Javier likes the program, too. They’d finally figured out what works for Javier last season and the programs have been tailored to suit him.

“Thank you. And you’re doing Romeo and Juliet again,” Javier comments. He was aiming for a casual observation, but a judgemental tone bleeds into it by accident.

Yuzuru purses his lips. “You think it’s stupid choice.”

“No, I don’t,” Javier protests as almost a knee-jerk reaction.

Yuzuru narrows his eyes as if to say, “Really?”

Javier huffs. “Okay, I don’t think it’s stupid, but I don’t get it.”

“I wanted to,” Yuzuru says, answering the unasked question. “It’s important music to me. Feel right to go to Sochi with.”

Javier thinks about it. He thinks about nearly two years ago and that Romeo and Juliet. He thinks about how he knew next to nothing about Yuzuru at the time. He thinks about his last Olympic season, ultimately disappointing. He thinks about how much has changed.

Nam finishes and Yuzuru cheers enthusiastically as Javier claps along with considerably less energy.

“Good program,” Yuzuru compliments, raising both hands for a high five. “You win Junior Worlds?”

“I don’t know. Can you win the Olympics?” Nam teases.

Yuzuru laughs and his smile is delightfully confident. “That’s plan.”

—

It’s the gala practice for NHK, and Javier realizes in the passing of an idle thought that he’s skated in Japan more than Yuzuru has this season. The younger skater didn't do Japan Open, and he was disappointed with the results of this year's Grand Prix assignments and its plot to keep Yuzuru away from Japan.

Javier entertains silly, pointless thoughts like that instead of his fifth place finish or that stupid part of him that wants to go talk to Elene. His former training mate is practicing figures on the other side of the arena, and Javier wants to do something impulsive like ask her why or maybe just hug her and ask how she’s been and if she’s okay.

He’s so absorbed in his efforts to stay distracted that he actually doesn’t notice when Elene approaches him. He’s not above admitting that he jumped a bit. Only a bit though.

“Hey, Javi,” Elene says, sounding impossibly amused.

“Hi, how are you?” Javier says, cringing at how wooden he is.

Elene inhales deeply and smiles. “I’ve been okay. You?”

“I’ve been better,” Javier responds, cracking a small grin to make sure it is simply a self-deprecating joke as opposed to something more concerning like the truth.

“Tired?” she asks and she actually does sound worried. She sounds as sisterly and friendly as she did when she’d ask him this at the Cricket Club, and suddenly Javier wants her back there with all of them more than he thought he ever would.

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” Javier says, and it’s terribly stilted even to his own ears. Pressured by the stiffness, he blurts out, “Why did you leave?”

Elene chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d ask. You’ve been staring at me all practice.”

“I have?” Javier curses himself. He thought he’d done a good job, too.

“Yeah, you’ve never exactly been subtle.” Elene laughs, patting his back in what he supposes is sympathetic comfort. “You’re the only one that doesn’t notice.”

“Leave me alone,” Javier complains. This is familiar. This is nice.

Elene pushes her shoulders back and says firmly, “I needed a change. I wanted to be closer to my family so Jersey was a good choice. Brian agreed so I left.”

“Well,” Javier flounders about for something to say. “I’m glad you’re doing well and good luck. With the rest of the season.”

She opens her mouth to say something but decides against it. Instead, she reaches forward and wraps her arms around Javier in a tight hug. It takes a moment, but Javier returns the embrace. Maybe she didn’t say goodbye to him, but that’s okay. He remembers now. Goodbyes are damn hard.

She pulls back, sniffing just a little. “It was good seeing you, Javi. I’m going to go say hi to Brian. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around,” Javier says, waving to her receding figure. ‘See you around’ is infinitely easier than ‘goodbye.’

There’s only half an hour left and Javier moves on with his own practice. He grimaces at the uncomfortable hardness of his new boots and hopes that it’ll go away soon. His first Grand Prix event is already over. He doesn’t have any time to waste.

—

Yuzuru hums some upbeat song and pops another gravy-covered fry into his mouth. Javier isn’t sure if he should be amused or horrified. He did not expect Yuzuru to actually enjoy poutine. He’d been willing to bet that the Japanese skater would be put off by it but upon taking the first bite about fifteen minutes ago, he’d cheerfully declared, “It’s good!”

Fifteen minutes later, Javier’s pretty much left it up to Yuzuru to finish the plate. Javier is satisfied with the knowledge that he’d finally fulfilled his promise of poutine after over a year. He’s also relieved to do something chill. This Grand Prix series has been a grind. Yuzuru hasn’t been in a good place recently either. Two times against Patrick Chan and two losses. Things aren’t boding well for the Olympics.

Yuzuru chews and swallows before asking, “How are boots?”

Javier sighs. Things absolutely aren’t boding well for him. He’s going to need to place either second or first at the Rostelecom Cup next week to make the Final and, as Yuzuru so helpfully reminded him, his boots are still being little pieces of shit.

“I got another pair but it’s been the same deal,” Javier confesses.

The Japanese skater nods while chewing thoughtfully, and Javier doubts that a food like poutine was created for philosophizing. “If not work, can try go back to old skates. Don’t want to be not confident at Olympics.”

“Maybe. So I’m thinking of getting another cat,” Javier shrugs, saying the first thing to come to mind in an attempt to change the subject.

Yuzuru wrinkles his nose. “Why? You’re alle—allir—”

“I’m not that allergic,” Javier insists, finishing Yuzuru’s word search. “Besides, I think she gets lonely when I’m gone.”

“You’re gone too much. You ask Dave to feed Effie but too hard to feed two,” Yuzuru replies, ruthlessly shooting down Javier’s whim for a second cat.

“You’re right,” Javier concedes. It would be unfair to his neighbor and to Effie too. She’s a needy cat, often fighting his house guests for his attention. She probably wouldn’t deal well with another addition.

Yuzuru throws the last two fries into his mouth. “Always right.”

“Okay,” Javier says, the word catching between laughs. He puts his palms down on the table. “You ready to go?”

Yuzuru drops his head down onto folded arms, groaning. “I eat too much.”

“I don’t feel that bad for you. No one made you finish it.” Javier guffaws, slapping Yuzuru on the back.

“I know,” Yuzuru whines, rolling his head back and forth. “It was really good.”

“Well, time to get you home before you throw up,” declares Javier as he stands up.

“No. Can’t move.”

“You’re getting up, Yuzu. I’m not gonna carry you home.”

Yuzuru’s head snaps up and he makes an annoyed noise. “Don’t need carry. Not a kid.”

“Then get up,” Javier commands, crossing his arms expectantly.

“Fine.” Yuzuru exhales loudly, making a show of leaving his seat. Rolling his neck and waving his arms around in a noodle-like fashion.

“You’re like the size of a twig. Where does all that food go?” Javier teases.

“Not everyone can be like Javi.” Yuzuru makes a disgruntled sound, gesturing at Javier’s general direction.

“Oh, and what am I like?” Javier goads, fishing for a compliment.

Yuzuru punches Javier’s shoulder—which is truly the most unfortunate habit to pick up because while Yuzuru might be twig, he also knows how to pack a punch—and walks off at a pace unsuited for someone claiming immobility less than a minute ago.

“Are you coming?” Yuzuru asks with a fake innocence at the door.

Yuzuru has Javier’s wallet and keys in his bag. Javier literally needs the younger skater to be able to go home, so he grumbles to a few choice phrases in Spanish and follows along. 

—

Javier doesn’t make it to the Grand Prix Final, which sucks just as much as it sounds. Instead, he is lazing about his apartment with only his cat and reheated pizza for company. It’s pathetic sure, but he’s resolved to throw himself a pity party and nobody can stop him.

He is settled in on his coach, sinking between the cushions and properly wallowing, when his phone rings. It's Miki.

“Hello?” Javier says and is greeted with hitched breaths and muffled sobs. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

Miki struggles to calm down. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes. “I say I won’t cry.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Now what’s the matter. Is Himawari okay?” Javier asks. His mind scrambling for what could possibly be wrong.

“Yes, she is okay. Sorry, I just need to tell someone but don’t want worry family,” Miki explains. “I’m retiring.”

The news hits Javier in the gut. “Wait, why?”

“I need take care of Himawari and competition too much, too hard. It’s my time to leave. I finish talk with coach today and we decide it’s time.”

“ _Dios mio_ , are you gonna be okay?” Javier asks softly, thankful that the crying is petering off into the occasional sniffle.

“Yes, don’t mean to cry but I couldn’t go home like this and needed someone to know.”

“Where are you right now?”

Miki laughs. It’s quiet and subdue compared to her usual giggles. She admits, “Bathroom. I am silly right now. You are in Canada. Why am I calling you?”

“That’s perfectly okay.” Javier shifts so that he’s more comfortable on the couch and settles in for the long haul. “Now, you said you needed to talk.”

And then Miki talks about all her woes and all her worries, and Javier listens. He gets why she called him. It’s the same reason why he hangs out with Sara or Dave. Sometimes you end up confessing to people who aren’t so immediate. Miki’s family will no doubt have many opinions on this retirement while Javier only thinks of it as a choice she made.

She concludes her story with, “I am so tired. I'm done. Will go to Nationals and announce there.”

“Good for you,” Javier says. “And I still mean it. You are a winner.”

Miki laughs wetly and agrees. “Thank you, Javi. I will leave you alone now.”

“You’re welcome. Tell Himawari I said hi.”

The call ends like that. Javier stares at the dark screen of his phone for a long while. The first half of this all-important season passed like a mirage for Javier, disjointed scenes that must flow together but Javier can’t figure out how they’re connected. His boots are still a mess. He didn’t make the Grand Prix Final which sounds as terrible as it felt. The Olympic pressure is permeating the Cricket Club and it almost feels like a different rink. It’s like the world silently shifted without warning Javier about it and now he’s scrambling to regain his center of balance. Sitting despondently on the couch that he can remember from before he began skating, he muses, _“Why does everyone leave eventually?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter than usual but that's how the cards fell with this one. WTT was a delight and I will exist in this space of happy for now.


	10. middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the Coldplay fic: house parties, elevator meetings, losses, wins, confessions, and things to hold onto

This year Javier comes back to Toronto for New Years. Staying in Spain just doesn’t feel right, so he comes back, but it's not because he has anything monumental planned either.

As a matter of fact, New Year’s Eve meets Javier at the house party of a friend surrounded by strangers and fairy lights. The New Year isn’t the only thing that Javier meets. He meets many new acquaintances and copious amounts of alcohol, and when the lights along the wall are beginning to spiral to the beat of the music, he meets a crooked-smiled man with messy hair and a quick wit. The two of them end up sitting on the floor of a hallway just slightly out of reach of the party, and Javier can’t stop laughing.

Tom is his name. The name of the smiling man with the hair. Javier thinks that maybe he really likes his hair. It’s artist hair, I-care-but-I’m-trying-to-act-like-I-don’t hair. Some time between a joke and a fluttering thought of what it might be like to run his hand through that hair, they’re kissing. Javier has his tongue in Tom’s mouth and Tom’s fingers, chilled from the condensation of his beer bottle, are points of shock on Javier’s neck and—what the hell is he doing?

Javier pushes him away, slumps back against the wall panting, and stammers, “I’m sorry. I don’t—I mean—I’m not—”

“Right,” Tom drags out the word with a lazy drawl. “Let me guess. You’re not gay?”

“I’m not,” he insists as everything around him spirals unpleasantly.

“Whatever you say,” Tom says with a dry chuckle. He pats Javier on the cheek patronizingly and gets up, leaving only the smell of sandalwood and whiskey and the parting phrase of, “See you around, Javi.”

Javier doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the opposite wall. He doesn’t know how he got himself home, but one minute he’s freaking out in the hallway of Dave’s party and the next he’s lying belly-down on his bed and staring at the dark sky outside his window. Javier isn’t gay. He can’t be. He’s always liked girls, dated plenty of them, but at the same time, he didn’t exactly hate the kiss. Javier shoves his face into his pillow and hopes that he’s too drunk to remember that thought the next morning.

He isn’t and he doesn’t, but it’s blurry enough and his head hurts enough that he can pretend.

—

Javier sits on the floor of his hotel room. Moonlight streams through the crack left in the curtains from when he’d sloppily pulled them close. The pale column sprawls across his legs, illuminating the skates lying between them. He plays with the fraying laces and runs a finger across the stickers of the Spanish flag on the blade.

They’re his old skates. On a whim, with Yuzuru’s advice running circles in his head, Javier had packed those with him to the European Championships instead of either of his newer ones. He taps idly at the bottom of his skates. Javier hasn’t had a real conversation with Yuzuru in a while now. He’s never had a rival who is also a training mate and a friend before, and both are learning how to adjust to that dynamic as they approach Sochi. Yuzuru’s preferred solution seems to be avoidance. It works, but in the darkness with nothing but his boots and the hotel carpet, Javier kind of misses him.

The next day, Javier shows up to official practice with his old boots, ignoring the questioning glances from Brian, and skates better than he has all week. He skates well enough that he manages to defend his Championship title. Maybe Yuzuru was onto something when he returned to the music of Romeo and Juliet. It feels incredible to come back to something you know you can count on, can hold onto for comfort.

Once Javier steps into the hotel after the free skate, he feels all the energy flow right out of him. It is relief mixed with exhaustion, morphing his stomach into a paradoxical mix of sleepy giddiness. Javier slumps into the wall of the elevator and yawns wide enough that his jaw pops.

Through half-lidded eyes, Javier notices that he’s gained a companion in the elevator. He blinks the water away, even rubs at them to make sure. Flo is in the elevator with him.

Flo’s mouth stretches into a smile, showing white teeth against tan skin. He says, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Javier smiles back because he’s tired and he doesn’t really know what else to do. “What floor?”

“Six.”

Javier presses the button, which glows a light orange under his finger, and a silence permeates the elevator. Javier scowls. This is silly. He shouldn’t allow a decision he made when he was eighteen affect how he lives his life now.

“How’ve you been?” Javier asks.

If Flo’s thrown off by the sudden overture, he doesn’t show it. He continues in the warmth and charm that had always come easily to him, the phrases twisting cleverly around a French accent. “Oh, I’m exhausted. It’s been such a long week.”

“Tell me about it. I could probably sleep for a week after this,” Javier says, standing up from his slump. Several joints crack as if to emphasize his point.

“Ah, you can’t sleep yet!” Flo exclaims. “You’re the champion. You have to celebrate.”

Javier groans as if the thought itself is too much for him. He casts an arm dramatically over his eyes. “No, I can’t go on. It’s been too much for me.”

Flo laughs. “I’m sure that’s not true. Some of Team France is going out after the banquet tomorrow. You should come with.”

“Maybe,” Javier answers, not expecting the invitation.

The elevator dings, signaling its arrival at the sixth floor. The door opens and Flo steps out, waving goodbye to Javier and turning the corner.

Flo is gone now and it wasn’t all that awkward. In retrospect, it was probably just Javier building it up to be a greater issue in his head than it was. Or maybe Flo is just a better person than Javier is. He can’t imagine it would’ve been nice to hear that a training mate, however distant, left because of you. Then again, Javier reached out, didn’t he? He’s grown up, too. Javier stares up at the slowly changing floor numbers and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. In many ways, he still hasn’t grown up at all.

—

“Hey, looks like the free skate is on Valentine’s Day,” notes Javier, studying the schedule that they’d just been given.

“Really?”

Yuzuru throws a passing glance at the paper. He says the word in a way that shows how little the knowledge matters to him. That’s how talking to him is these days. It’s tunnel vision for the Olympics that Brian has trying to tie down a tornado.

Javier sighs, bringing the paper back in front of himself. Unconsciously, the edges get crumpled in his hands. He leans against the wall while Yuzuru is back on the ice. “Maybe the season of love can give you good luck in your long program.”

This comment is at least enough to coax a small smile out of Yuzuru. “Maybe.”

Javier is tired and stressed, and he wants to see Yuzuru laugh again. He says, “So you’re Romeo?”

“Yes, kind of,” he answers.

“Then who’s your Juliet?”

Yuzuru stumbles, catching on his own edge. “What?”

“Romeo and Juliet, you know. Who’s your Juliet, your Valentine?”

“No one,” Yuzuru stutters, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Ah, that isn’t the look of someone who doesn’t have a Valentine in mind. C’mon, Yuzu, tell me who,” he teases.

Sharp eyes dart around Javier’s shape, searching for anyone who could save him from answering. The only other person present is Brian, who is sitting in his office with the look of someone who doesn’t not want to be bothered under any circumstances.

“Maybe I tell if win gold at Sochi,” Yuzuru mumbles, pressing down the strands of hair behind his ears.

It takes Javier a moment to even process what Yuzuru said. In that time, Yuzuru has already made it to the other side of the rink to begin his practice in earnest. It’s not a laugh, but it’s something.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Javier calls out and Yuzuru almost slips again at his voice.

—

As Javier’s luck would have it, Tom becomes a regular fixture at almost every hangout that Dave invites him to after New Year’s. They’re at a restaurant of smoke and onions and Javier keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t look at Tom, tracing the patterns in the woodwork.

“Are sports really so important that we’re just supposed to ignore the discriminatory laws that Russia passed against gay people?” Tom demands. The dinner conversation turned to the controversy surrounding the Sochi Olympics about five minutes ago. Hence, Javier keeping his mouth shut.

“You pose a tough question there, Tom. I think I need some more drinks for this conversation,” Dave jokes, encouraging other people to give him their orders as well.

By the time Dave is making it to the bar at the back of the restaurant, the attention has been diverted away from the corner of the table that houses Tom’s indignation and Javier’s silence.

“And what do you think? You’re actually going to Sochi,” Tom says, staring at Javier with icy eyes. Everything about Tom is cool and collected, which only makes Javier feel more rattled.

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “How should I know? I’m just an athlete.”

“Yes, because you’re completely straight and therefore you have no reason to care about all this.” Tom rolls his eyes and the sardonic tone gets on every single one of Javier’s nerves.

“I am,” Javier forces out through clenched teeth.

Tom sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, glaring at some point behind Javier’s left ear. “That was rude of me. It just gets me so angry.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Javier sneers.

Tom chuckles, shaking his head. “I probably deserve that.” His cold eyes find their way to Javier’s face and there is something in those dark depths that speaks of sympathy. “I think you might to need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Javier.”

A mean response scorches the back of Javier’s throat but he’s saved from the fire that it would’ve cause by Dave’s hand on his shoulder. Dave sets another glass in front of himself, it’s quiet clink shattering the thin frost of unspoken knowledge and unacknowledged irritation.

“What are you guys talking about now?” Dave asks. Maybe part of him senses that something isn’t right or maybe he genuinely wants to know.

“Oh, nothing much. I was just asking Javier about Spain. I think I might want to travel there one day,” Tom says, bringing his drink up to his lips and effortlessly lying.

Javier is caught between rage and some amount of relief that Tom doesn’t say anything incriminating. He ignores Tom for the rest of the night, but this is the damn conversation that comes rushing back to Javier a week later.

It’s not right and it’s sure as hell not an excuse, but maybe it’s a reason, a matter of cause and effect. Javier is not used to media attention. Spain doesn’t care about figure skating, but then at the Olympics, he’s the flag bearer and the only chance at a medal. He’s not media trained whatsoever, so when an interviewer asks him about the anti-gay laws. Well, he doesn’t succeed at keeping his mouth shut this time

Javier looks at the woman and is filled with a rolling agitation. He remembers Tom and his maddening pushing of the subject. Why does everyone want him to talk about this? It’s not like he knows a damn thing. He just wants it to stop.

He smiles falsely, the pull of his lips over his teeth aches. He lets that scorching loose without giving it any further thought. The woman’s eyes widen. She clearly didn’t expect something so honest. She ends the interview shortly after and seems in a hurry to write the article. The eagerness changes the impulsive irritation into dread and the nagging thought that he’s done something terribly wrong.

This must show on his face as he rushes back to Brian’s side, but Javier doesn’t tell the truth when Brian inquires after it. He could be overreacting after all. Of course, he isn’t. By the end of the day, the article is out and it only takes one translation to find out what Javier said.

He’d told gay people to “lie low.” If they don’t like it, then they don’t have to watch. It’s not the absolute worst thing that could be said, but the look on Brian’s face of utter disappointment as he reads a translated article from his phone is enough to make Javier feel like the worst.

“Should I explain or something? Talk to that woman again?” Javier asks, tugging at the ends of his hair. There’s an urgency beating in his veins. He must do something to fix all this.

“No, we’ll issue an apology, but you aren’t speaking to any more reporters. Your only job now is to focus on the competition,” Brian says calmly, but the clenched jaw doesn’t disappear for the next two days.

—

The short program event is over in a flash with a new world record and with Javier in third place. The official warm up is over. The six-minute warm up is over. All that’s left is to go out there and lay it all on the ice, and Javier has never been more terrified in his life.

Have you ever wanted something too much? Javier wants to ask this to someone, anyone. But there is no one for Javier to ask.

Yuzuru grows more drawn by the day with bags under his eyes that haven’t eased since the team event. He’s on the other side of the warm up area less than ten feet away but the younger skater has never seemed more distant. His eyes are glued to something no one else can see, and he doesn’t notice Javier’s staring. They haven’t had any competitions together this year and Javier misses him. He misses when he could stride across the blue mats and tell Yuzuru anything. He misses their walks and those stupid, freezing balconies that Yuzuru is so fond of.

Javier takes a deep breath and keeps stretching. He sneaks glances at Brian from under his arm. He’s missed Brian, too. The coach has been as attentive as ever, but he has two students and Javier can’t forget the hardness in Brian’s face after reading the article. Javier switches legs. He doesn’t want to bother him anymore than he already has.

He is in third place. This is the mantra beating a thunderstorm in Javier’s eardrums. He is within a stone’s throw of an Olympic medal. There is a thrumming underneath his skin as if his body is not enough to contain all that is swirling inside of him right now. It is suffocating, and Javier can’t remember the last time he felt so lonely.

When they call his name and he steps out into the arena with Brian trailing behind him, he is hit by the intensity of it all, the thousands of eyes waiting for something striking and beautiful, and Javier doesn’t know if he can deliver and what if he doesn’t? And why is wanting something so painful? Why does it wrap around his esophagus and tug at his heart?

“You good?” Brian asks. His hand clasps Javier on the shoulder and he comes back to himself a bit, letting out a gush of breath.

“Yeah.”

Javier needs to clear his mind. There’s too much going on. He can’t think about all these things. He just needs to skate. Javier reaches center ice, the announcer bellows his name, the music begins, and he skates. Quad toe. Quad sal. Things are going well. Then his second salchow gets tripled and his mind blanks. All thought rushes out and he’s running on instinct. He is scrambling, grasping at the edge of something but not quite able to reach it.

Four and a half minutes later, he leaves the ice at the 2014 Olympics and misses the podium by two points because of a repeated triple salchow jump. Brian does his best, patting Javier on the back and giving him sage advice. If anyone knows something about coming so close yet falling short, it’s Brian which is also why he leaves Javier alone eventually.

Javier goes back to his room. There’s nothing to do with disappointment so bitter. The body must expel it like a toxin. He calls his mom, crying as the first day he was born, and he immerses himself in the syllables of home.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Enriqueta coos. “You’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t say anything about how Javier did his best or that he tried. Enriqueta doesn’t operate in empty promises. She sticks to the facts. As shitty as he feels right now, Javier will be okay eventually.

“I’m sorry for calling like this. Thank you for listening,” Javier says, sniffing a bit. He’s very glad that his roommate, Javier Raya, had to leave not long after the short program was over. No one else can see him in this sorry state.

Enriqueta scoffs and says fondly, “Oh, what are mothers for? You might have left home early, but you are still my baby boy.”

“Mama,” Javier whines and her expansive laugh blossoms into the room through the phone speaker. It’s enough to remind him how to smile.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a man now. You don’t want your mother saying such embarrassing things,” Enriqueta teases gently.

“I love you,” Javier says, the words tumbling from his mouth unhindered, more instinctive and familiar to him than ice skating, than the Spanish language itself.

“I love you, too. Now go to bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” she chides and Javier can imagine her face exactly as if he were eight once more and staying up past his bedtime.

“It is getting late.” Javier runs a hand through his hair and it’s been short this year. He thinks he might want to grow it out again. He whispers into his lonely hotel room, “I’m not sure I know what I want anymore.”

His mother’s breath drags static across his ear. Her voice is soft enough to cut. “Start small. You must know something. Find it and hold onto it and you’ll be okay.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” Javier mumbles. Her words settle something inside of him that he didn’t know needed to be settled.

“Sweet dreams,” she wishes and hangs up.

Javier lets his hand drop, the phone slipping onto the white sheets. It is indeed getting late. Javier’s room is in sobering indigos and darkening grays. The stasis of evening is broken by a quick rhythm of knuckles knocking at the door.

“Coming,” Javier calls out, hastily wiping at his eyes and hiding away the vestiges of his sadness.

He flips on the lights on his way to the door. He’s not expecting anyone. He definitely doesn’t expect to see Yuzuru of all people, waiting like a lonely specter.

“Hello, Javi,” he says, inclining his head in a small bow. “Can come in?”

Javier crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be talking to reporters or something?”

“Done finally.” Yuzuru heaves a great big sigh, his whole torso moving with the force of it.

“And why are you here?”

The Olympic Champion shrugs, tilting his head with the motion. “Wanted to.”

“Now you want to,” Javier grumbles.

“What?” Yuzuru leans forward, trying to catch Javier’s quiet words.

“I said,” Javier raises his voice and there’s an ugly color to it, jealous and bitter. “you want to talk to me now after ignoring me for two months.”

The other jerks back as if hit by a physical entity. He snaps, “Don’t blame all me. You don’t try talk either.”

Javier scowls because Yuzuru is right. As much as the distance was initially imposed by Yuzuru, Javier benefitted from the arrangement. They both wanted the podium too much to go on as they usually did without something breaking irreparably. Yuzuru was willing to do something about it, and Javier didn’t fight back. He shouldn’t allow the disappointment of today to change that fact.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Javier rubs at his eyes again. God, he just can’t say anything right this week, can he?

“Can come in?” Yuzuru asks again.

Now that the frustration has evaporated, Javier can finally see Yuzuru. Javier can see the anxiety that he might be turned away and the tiredness that pulls his entire spine down.

“Of course. How did you end up at the Spanish bloc anyway?” Javier asks, stepping aside. The Japanese Federation had booked rooms in the other hotel at the end of the street.

Yuzuru does that earth-shaking sigh again. “Try hide from cameras. A lot in front my hotel.”

He must’ve seen those from the distance and ducked in here instead. The Japanese skater shuffles past Javier and there’s still a lingering smell of sweat.

“Yuzu, have you even taken a shower yet?” Javier asks.

The other skater shakes his head. “No time.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“Eat snack when waiting for interview.”

Javier feels that same irritation coming back but this time it’s directed at whoever thought it was a good idea to let Yuzuru do all this stuff after such a long day. Then again, knowing Yuzuru, it was probably because of his own inability to say no.

“Okay, text Yumi and let her know that you’ll be eating with me. I’m gonna order pizza and you are gonna shower and rest,” Javier instructs.

“Shower? But no clothes,” Yuzuru points out, wide-eyed.

He probably only wanted to wait out the media and didn’t expect Javier to go into mother hen mode. Javier chalks it up to the long phone call with Enriqueta.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Javier offers, digging around his suitcase for something that would fit.

He finds a plain gray t-shirt and a pair sweatpants that are a bit tight on Javier. He turns to Yuzuru to find his eyes boring into Javier with an unreadable expression.

“What are you waiting for?” Javier chides, shoving the clothes into Yuzuru’s arms and shooing him in direction of the bathroom.

The unreadable, unplaceable expression persists while Yuzuru looks between the clothes and Javier. After a short impasse, he sighs—less earth-shaking this time which Javier takes to be a good sign.

“Thank you, Javi.” Yuzuru finally smiles and it has been too long since Javier has seen this one.

“You’re welcome and congratulations. Think I forgot that part,” Javier jokes as he tucks Yuzuru into a hug, encircling his arms around his neck and holding him close.

Yuzuru’s whispered ‘thank you’ is a puff of warm air into the crook of Javier’s neck. After a long pause, Javier lets Yuzuru go. There is a sudden swell of gratefulness that despite how untouchable Yuzuru has been recently, despite the Olympic gold that now hangs from that slim neck, they can still meet like this. They can still have this closeness even after time away. It’s small but maybe it’s something to hold onto.

“And I am sorry for you. Wanted make sure you’re okay.” Yuzuru has the drawstring of the sweatpants strangled around his fingers. The simple and well-used words of sympathy escape Yuzuru. Perhaps he, too, does not operate in empty promises.

Javier sucks in a deep breath at the panging reminder. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.” His hand goes to pat Yuzuru on the back and finds its way to the nape of his neck, pushing him along. “Now go shower. You’re starting to stink up my room.”

Yuzuru wrinkles his nose at the comment. “Mean.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Yuzu, but you don’t exactly smell like flowers right now.”

Yuzuru rolls his eyes and obediently heads for the bathroom. Javier does his part and calls the nearest pizza place and then he waits. He putters about the room, attempting to put some order to it and disguise his week of sloth. He sorts out a pile of clothes that need to be washed and folds the rest back into his suitcase. He drags the trash can from beneath the writing desk all around the room, getting rid of candy wrappers and instant noodles packets, shop receipts and empty water bottles. The gentle rush of water from the bathroom provides a pleasant white noise while Javier works.

Before he knows it, the hotel staff is calling him downstairs to pay for the pizza. Javier grabs his wallet and phone from his bed and yells at the beige bathroom door that he’ll be right back. He’s sure the Spanish Federation wouldn’t appreciate having to foot his pizza bill.

Truthfully, he is grateful for the task. When he allows his thoughts to wander, he can’t help but feel strange, off-beat. Yuzuru is an Olympic Gold Medalist now and what is Javier? Confused and lost, someone who still goes crying to his mother when things go wrong.

Shaking off these doubts, Javier deals with the pizza man. He takes the cardboard box with a wry smile while the teenager counts the bills. At the very least, no matter what country he’s in, Javier can always count on pizza delivery to be the same. He thanks the front desk for the call and the woman gives him an exhausted smile before returning to her papers. It must be tough running a hotel that’s been taken over by over-worked, over-stressed athletes with little to no knowledge of Russian.

When Javier returns to his room, opening the door with the pizza box balanced precariously in one hand, the shower is off and he has one Olympic Champion passed out on his bed. Javier swallows the loud ‘dinner’s here’ he was prepared to shout. He slides the pizza onto the desk and leans against the edge with his arms crossed and his head tilted. He chuckles to himself. Looks like Yuzuru’s really been run down today.

Javier muffles a yawn into the crook of his arm. In his haste to take care of Yuzuru, he’d almost forgotten how tired he is. Practices started at six this morning, and Javier isn’t biologically programmed to handle these schedules. He drapes the comforter from the armchair onto Yuzuru’s sleeping form. Yuzuru’s clothes have been carefully folded next to his slumbering form and the gold medal sits atop it. Javier can’t bear to look at it for long. He pulls up the number Yumi gave to him months ago and texts her that Yuzuru had fallen asleep in his room. Javier collapses onto the other bed, slouching against the headboard.

Yumi responds in English. She’s okay with Yuzuru spending the night there if Javier doesn’t mind. If Yuzuru returns to their room, he might try to study his free skate. It’d be best to let him sleep through it. Javier snorts at the message. Yumi definitely understands her own son. He wonders vaguely who helped her translate all that.

Yawning again, Javier squints at the pizza on the far desk. Food feels impossibly far away. Maybe Javier can just rest his eyes for a minute. Then he’ll wake up Yuzuru and they can eat. After that, Javier’s sure he can bully Yuzuru into sleeping as opposed to obsessing over today. Javier wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Yuzuru’s presence also saves him from the uncharacteristic fixation that is plaguing all of them after the event.

Javier isn’t sure when he fell asleep but when he opens his eyes again, the comforter has been draped over his own legs and Yuzuru is trying to sneak out.

“What are you doing?” Javier asks, rubbing at his neck and cursing himself for falling asleep while sitting up. That’s going to cramp tomorrow.

“Javi.” Yuzuru jumps, dropping his left shoe. “Sorry. Don’t mean wake you. Or to sleep here. Going now.”

Javier flaps his hand in Yuzuru’s direction. “Don’t worry about it. I texted your mom already. She’s fine with you staying here.”

“Really?” Yuzuru asks suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Javier smirks. “Something about how you’ll study your free skate like a nerd if you go back.”

Yuzuru puffs up like an offended peacock. “No, I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you but whatever. Point is, you can stay. Take off your shoe. You look silly with only one on.” Javier doesn’t say that Yuzuru also looks silly because of the t-shirt slipping off to one side and the drawstring that he’s had to double knot on the sweatpants.

Yuzuru hesitates, but Javier’s brain is running at half-capacity and can’t wrestle with indecision yet. He stands up, cracks his spine, and checks the watch on his phone. 2 am. Absolutely not the time for indecision, but it can be pizza time.

Javier strides towards where he’d left the food. “Hey, we still have the pizza. You hungry?”

The younger skater opens his mouth and, by the determined set of his jaw, was ready to deny it. Fortunately for Javier, Yuzuru’s obstinacy is foiled by the roar of the boy’s empty stomach. Yuzuru blushes at the sound.

“C’mon, let’s eat. Who doesn’t like cold pizza?” Javier jokes.

“I don’t,” Yuzuru grumbles, swallowing his pride and toeing off his one shoe.

They drag some hotel chairs outside at Yuzuru’s insistence. Javier pulls on his Team Spain jacket and the hotel comforter and Yuzuru retreats to the safety of the winter coat he’d arrived in. Between the two of them, they polish off most of the pizza with Yuzuru determinedly heating up his slices in the hotel microwave.

The night is cold but Javier is warm, and sleep is still tugging at the edges of his senses. Caught in the liminal space between his life and his dreams, Javier has the courage to ask, “Have you ever wanted something too much?”

The unreadable expression encapsulates Yuzuru’s face once more and he says, “Yes. All the time.”

—

Life turns back in time like those months of radio silence didn’t happen and they get to pick up right where they left off. Yet neither can forget that it’s the aftermath of the Olympics with the World Championships looming ahead. Most of their nerves are still shot.

Yuzuru tries to talk to Javier about his disappointment with his free skate, and Javier would’ve thrown him out of his room if the ensuing argument doesn’t end with Yuzuru storming off anyway. What does Yuzuru know about the type of disappoint that Javier harbors in his chest like an unwanted tumor? What can the Olympic Gold Medalist say about that kind of poisonous regret mere days after the awards ceremony? 

Although, for all his stubbornness that grates at Javier some days, Yuzuru can’t stand the thought of people being mad at him, and he is back around apologizing the next morning. Javier accepts the apology and offers one of his own because he’s not a complete asshole, but it does remind Javier that Yuzuru is more unreachable than ever. At the beginning of the season, Javier had been determined to beat Yuzuru, but now Yuzuru has his first Grand Prix Final gold and the Olympic medal and Javier has fourth place by the margin of his own mistakes. It’s a tough pill to swallow and it makes any pride Javier feels on behalf of his friend dulled by envy.

—

For the rest of their days in Sochi, Yuzuru spends the majority of his downtime in Javier’s room, sometimes sleeping over and sometimes going back to his own hotel. Javier suspects that it’s because Javier doesn’t nag Yuzuru if he spends too long playing games. Besides, no one expects Yuzuru to be hiding out there, which means no one can come along asking him for something that he will inevitably be unable to deny. It’s a sanctuary of sorts.

An extra toothbrush materializes in the bathroom and some clothes that don’t belong to Javier make their home on the floor. Javier doesn’t notice the encroachment until the morning he runs late for exhibition practice, pulling on the first clothes that he sees and booking it to the arena before they send someone to yell at him.

Javier doesn’t know how long he would’ve gone on obliviously if Daisuke hadn’t asked, “Are those Team Japan pants?”

“Huh,” Javier stops mid-step and peers down. “I guess they are. Must be Yuzuru’s.”

This sets off a chain reaction from their general vicinity. Daisuke laughs. Kanako grimaces. Yuzuru blushes up to the tips of his ears.

“Sorry. I was in a rush this morning. I promise to wash them before I return them,” Javier says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“It’s fine,” Yuzuru stammers.

Kanako groans burying her face into her hands and drags Yuzuru off to the far side of the rink, his skates skidding against the ice. The two are then involved in a quietly angry argument that involves a lot of arm waving and irritated glares at Javier from Kanako.

After that, the clothes disappear from Javier’s floor.

—

Javier had given Yuzuru a key to his hotel room. The younger skater never used it. He preferred to trail after Javier or to knock politely for entry. Until Javier’s last night in Sochi.

That night, as everyone that Javier knew rushed onto the ice at the very end, he’d looked up into those blinding spotlights and thought about all the years that went into the chance to come here once. To skate for ten minutes at Sochi, most of them have worked over ten years. He looked at all the tiny ghosts gliding back and forth, and he swears that he could see a lineage map drawn into the ceiling above each one of everything that had to be sacrificed, that had to be bled out, for that moment.

The Gala is finished and as he cracks open the door, there is a silhouette on his balcony, something small to hold onto. Javier creeps silently into his own room, pushing out into the cold night. Yuzuru doesn’t turn around.

“It’s been a crazy week,” Javier remarks, leaning against the banister so their shoulders are pressed together.

“Yes.” Yuzuru nods with a gentle smile. “I am ready for break.”

“Yuzuru Hanyu? Ready for a break?” Javier clutches at his chest dramatically. “Can it be?”

“Stop.” Yuzuru snorts.

“So what’s the plan now?”

“Stay in Japan for bit. Happy to bring gold medal to Sendai and spend time at home. Then prepare for Worlds.”

“I’m going back to Toronto until then.” Javier squints up at the purpling sky. “It’s only like five weeks, but Worlds feels so far away.”

Yuzuru hums in agreement. That’s when Javier realizes that Yuzuru brought his gold medal along. It’s been a week and it no longer hurts so much to look. Yuzuru runs his thumb along the edge of his medal like a mantra. It reminds Javier of his mother. She used to sit every morning at the kitchen table surrounded by the smell of her own handiwork—coffee and warm bread and citrus—and her fingers would run a familiar course down her rosary beads. She would close her eyes and count her prayers and all would be right in her world.

“How do you feel?” Javier hesitates the way he always did before wishing his mother good morning, afraid to interrupt something higher than him that he could never understand.

Yuzuru inhales then exhales, opening his arms to the Russian twilight and throwing his head back. “I feel on top of world. I feel brave.”

Javier lets out a shout of surprise when Yuzuru grabs him by both his hands and spins him around to a melody that only exists in Yuzuru’s own head. He lets Yuzuru’s thrill and excitement carry him until they are both giddy and dizzy, and the city around them feels like a bubble. Suddenly, they stop. Yuzuru stops turning and drops Javier’s hands.

“I am most brave right now.” Yuzuru smiles shakily.

“You are,” Javier agrees. He cannot think of a more suited word for Yuzuru.

The new Olympic champion presses his lips together in a tight line, breathes shuddering breaths. It is almost at odds with his own words except his hands are steady and his head is held high. Yuzuru almost looks like he is preparing for a competition, and Javier doesn’t know what this means. The air shivers. He’s scared that everything is about to change.

“You ask who Valentine is.”

“I did.”

“I promise to tell if win gold.” Yuzuru’s eyes are wild fire, and Javier is burning.

Then, all of a sudden, those eyes are impossibly and precariously close and a pair of lips are pressed against his. Yuzuru is kissing Javier, timid pulling and desperate pining. The bubble pops.

“What? What was that?”

The balcony is no longer comfortably tiny, small enough for the two of them. It is shrinking. They’re only on the fifth floor, but Javier swears the air is getting thinner.

“I am being brave.” Yuzuru is calm. He’s steady and strong. He is whip-quick, a crack of lightning, a burst of sunshine. Javier doesn’t want to have to reject him, doesn’t want to have to push away this boy who has come to mean so much to him.

“I’m sorry, Yuzu, but I don’t...” Javier trails off helplessly.

“I know. I had hope—” Yuzuru cuts himself off, redirecting his speech to something less intimidatingly honest. “You don’t have to say. I know Javi doesn’t feel same, but I am at most brave right now. I want to say at least once.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you don’t like boys.”

Javier swallows, his throat clicks dryly. He wants to apologize again. He doesn’t even know what he wants to apologize for. For saying no? For not being gay? For not liking Yuzuru the way the other skater wants?

Yuzuru tilts his head and smiles so softly, so tenderly that Javier can’t look at him for long. He stares down at the dusty sliding door. Then, a hand comes up and turns Javier’s face around, and a light kiss is pressed to his cheek.

“Bye, Javi.”

Yuzuru leaves. He was smiling. Somehow, he didn’t seem sad. Or maybe he was. A little bit in the corners of his mouth. But watching Yuzuru leave, Javier thinks he looks lighter. Javier stays on the balcony by himself, letting the cold seep in through his clothes, letting the night darken around him. Eventually, he goes back inside, and the spare room key is waiting for him at his bedside table. The white plastic catches the glare of the moon, obtrusive against the dark wood. He goes to sleep that night with the lingering memory of Yuzuru’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a great, big thank you to Emily for reading 6k+ words for me at four in the morning!


	11. recalibration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic that got me yelled at across four different sites: heaviness, lightness, Worlds podiums, things that can't be answered, and things that can't be taken away.

When did sunlight get so heavy? Javier stares at the ice colored golden, the way it has every afternoon as his practice winds to a close. His feet drag and his eyes droop and as the ice shifts everyday from white to yellow, he grows heavier.

“Is everything okay with you and Yuzuru?” Tracy asks, resting a feather-light hand on his back.

Of course, Tracy’s noticed something off. After Yuzuru’s triumphant return to Canada, he’d requested that his training schedule be switched around. He didn’t phrase it so directly, but he no longer has any overlapping sessions with Javier.

The only time that Javier has seen Yuzuru since Sochi was on the Japanese skater’s first day back at the Cricket Club. Javier walked into the lounge and was quickly called over by an excited Nam. The teenager had the Olympic Medal around his neck as he waved his phone at Javier.

“Could you take a photo of me and Yuzu?”

“Sure.”

He took the photo without really looking at it. He passed the phone back to Nam while the teenager returned the medal to its rightful owner. Javier shot a furtive glance at Yuzuru. He looked healthy, well-rested.

“Have you worn the medal yet?” Nam asked.

“No,” Javier answered.

“Why not?” the teenager pushed.

Before Javier could formulate a proper response to shut him down, Yuzuru walked towards him with the medal in hand. Yuzuru didn’t say anything but his fingers curled around the circumference of it like a question mark. Javier nodded, and the Olympic Champion draped the blue ribbon gently around Javier’s neck.

It was unbelievably heavy, undeserved, and Yuzuru was all too close. Javier couldn’t help but remember the last time Yuzuru was this close and what he did and how Javier’s world had been unceremoniously shifted on its axis.

“Can you feel it?” Yuzuru asked in the low voice of someone trying to convey something deep and serious.

“What?” Javier croaked. All he could feel was the ghost of Yuzuru’s touch across the back of his neck.

“Your goal.”

Javier felt suckerpunched. He was reminded of summer skies and subway entrances and what it means to have a goal, a big goal. The air was pushed from his lungs by the proximity in which those words were spoken. Yuzuru was too close to Javier and too close to the truth, which Javier had been searching for like a lost child in the time since Sochi. The truth is this. Disappointment is disappointment. Regret is regret. But Javier has come a long way and he is far from through so he can and he will escape from this impasse. He’s done it before.

“It’s why I bring to Cricket Club,” Yuzuru explained. “To remind me.”

Javier nodded again. Yes, he could feel it.

That was two weeks ago, but Tracy is here now, asking him about Yuzuru.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Javier says. Is it an oversimplification of the truth or a lie? Even Javier can’t tell.

“Good,” Tracy drags the word out as if she were reluctant to believe him. “If anything’s bothering you, you know you can talk to us, right?”

“I know that.” Javier swallows roughly.

She nods and rubs his back in slow circles. “It’s almost time to leave for Worlds. You’ve been doing really well. We’re proud of you for bouncing back the way you did. The season isn’t over yet. You can do this, Javi.”

“Thank you,” he says. His mouth opens and closes a couple times as he searches for the words. “I think… I need to think more.”

“Alright, is this about next season?” Tracy asks, her lips turning down as she tries to decipher Javier’s cryptic statement.

“Yeah, I kind of. I might not do the Grand Prix series next year. Really focus on European Championships and Worlds.” Javier runs a hand through his hair. It’s gotten longer. That’s what he needs. Focus. Forget all the confusion, all the world-shifting events. Go back to the basics of why he does this.

“Okay, we’ll talk with Brian about this, but if that’s what you want, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Thank you, Tracy,” Javier says and he means it.

He casts a reflexive eye at the other side of the rink as if Yuzuru would magically materialize, throw out a triple axel, and challenge Javier to a race. It’s a Tuesday, and Javier’s instincts from the last two years tell him that Yuzuru should be there. The time around the Olympics was distance, but utter absence has created room for an epiphany. He can’t imagine his life in Toronto without Yuzuru’s friendship, his extended hand after a rough fall, his laugh echoing around the mirrors. How far is Javier willing to go to keep this friendship? How far does he want to go?

Here’s the thing. Yuzuru is not the first guy that Javier’s kissed but neither is Tom. That title belongs to the summer of Javier’s sixteenth year. It was mango sorbet and his best friend from school under the big oak tree at the park. Javier was very plainly rejected and within the next month he had signed for a training deal in New Jersey.

At sixteen, Javier had too much hair, too little tact, and he’d felt horribly stifled by Madrid. At sixteen, Javier was a struggling figure skater from a country that didn’t give two shits about him or the “gay sport.” Javier knew what the other kids were saying behind his back and the slightest notion that maybe he also found boys attractive wouldn’t have helped his case so he did his best to ignore it. He’d say that he’s done a pretty swell job in the years since then.

What all this means is that Tom’s kiss and Yuzuru’s confession both feel a hell of a lot like suffocation. That kind of muscle memory isn’t something you forget in a day.

—

“Miki, do you think I flirt too much?” Javier asks.

They’re having a play day with Himawari in Miki’s apartment. The young girl is currently rediscovering the wonders of color blocks while Javier takes a break, leaning back against the foot of the couch. It is quiet except for Miki’s encouraging words and Himawari’s nonsensical babbling. It’s too peaceful, and his mind has nothing left to do except think.

Miki looks at Javier, her brows furrowed. “I don’t think so?”

“What do you do when you’ve accidentally hurt someone you care about?” He whispers.

“Is this about Yuzuru?” Miki asks, cutting straight to the chase.

Javier laughs humorlessly and rubs at his eyes. “Did everyone know?”

“Not everyone, but most Japanese skaters thought maybe Yuzuru had crush on you,” Miki admits.

“I didn’t know,” he mutters at his hands.

Miki says something to her daughter in Japanese and brushes her hair back from her face before moving to sit next to Javier. Their legs are splayed out next to each other, blue jeans next to black leggings, as the two of them fondly watch Himawari’s one-player game of her own construct.

“What happened?” she begins softly.

“He confessed I guess.” Javier shrugs nonchalantly as if it were all no big deal, as if he hasn’t been thinking about this since February. “At Sochi.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath from beside him. “Wow, I didn’t think he would ever confess.”

“So do I flirt too much? Have I been leading him on or something?”

And this has been haunting Javier since it happened. He’s turned that conversation over and over in his head since that night, and he can’t help but latch onto the way Yuzuru said, “I had hope.” How much hope? How much has Javier unintentionally hurt his friend?

“Not flirting and not leading on.” Miki shakes her head. She brushes Javier’s hair in much the same way she did with Himawari. It is a calming, repetitive motion. “But you treat Yuzuru different than you treat others.”

“We’re friends. We train together.”

“I know,” she reassures, “but you treat him softer. It’s not same. I don’t know how to explain.”

Javier doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He supposes that it might be true, but that’s only because Yuzuru is different from anyone he’s ever met before. Yuzuru is special.

“Besides doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sure Yuzuru don’t blame you.”

At this point, Himawari realizes that her playmates have wandered off. She waddles over on stubby, toddler legs and happily shoves a red block into Javier’s hands. She then moves onto Miki and hands her a blue one.

“Thank you, Hima. You are so great, you know that?” Javier says, pulling the giggling girl into his lap. He laughs alongside her and Miki, and he is happy. He is in an apartment thousands of miles away from his actual family but he’s found two people who are willing to welcome him into theirs.

The worst part is that Javier knows Yuzuru doesn’t blame him. It’s not in Yuzuru’s nature to blame. Javier almost wishes that Yuzuru had been angrier about it or maybe even just more forceful. If Yuzuru had blamed Javier, then at least he would have something to rail against. Part of him wishes there had been an argument or something because in reality it had been like a surrender. More than anything, Javier hates how this whole situation has turned Yuzuru into a cautious thing that accepts losing, and he hates that he plays a role in it.

—

“Javier, there’s someone here for you!” Javier Raya yells from somewhere beyond the bathroom door.

“Coming!” Javier shouts back, hanging the towel around his neck and stepping out. “Who is—oh.”

Javier cuts himself off, his gait faltering from one step to the next.

“Hi.” Yuzuru waves from around the door frame. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” he says without moving.

“Uh, you okay there?” Raya asks, his gaze darting between the two training mates in a stand-off.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

Javier snaps into action, striding past Raya and forcing Yuzuru to jump back into the hallway with a squeak. He closes the door behind him in one fluid motion. Then it is just him and Yuzuru alone in a shadowed hall with Persian rugs and walls of indecisive beige.

“Hi,” Yuzuru repeats.

“Hi,” Javier parrots.

“So that is your roommate,” the younger skater asks, struggling for small talk.

“Yeah, he was also my roommate at Sochi.”

“Never see him.”

“He left after the short program.” Javier crosses his arms and leans back on his heels. “Did you come to chat about my rooming choices?”

“No,” Yuzuru rushes to answer. The single syllable comes out strident and alarming. “Want see you before competition. To talk.”

“Well, here I am.”

“Yes,” Yuzuru tucks his hair behind his ear as his mouth moves in muted false starts. Finally, he says, “I want to be okay. Want to be like we use to. Don’t want us to change, and if what I say make you unhappy, I am very sorry. I still want to be friends and train with you in Toronto.”

Javier interjects, “Of course you’ll train in Toronto. Don’t think we’d just let you leave. And I still want to be friends too.”

“Good,” Yuzuru sighs, and Javier feels guilty all of a sudden. Maybe he should’ve been the one to bring up this talk. Yuzuru was the one who confessed so he was waiting for Javier to come to him. He probably thought Javier was mad at him or something.

“I am better when train with Javi.”

Javier’s heart clenches unpleasantly. “I am better with you too.” And it’s such an honest truth. He is only realizing the extent of it now, but the seasons of training with Yuzuru have changed Javier for the better and he is reverberating with such an intense sense of gratitude that it rattles at his joints.

This statement pleases Yuzuru at least, luring a tiny smile onto his face. “Sorry didn’t talk to you after Sochi. I needed some time and thought would be better for you too.”

“I think it was. Thank you,” Javier confesses.

It’s not fair that Javier, the older one, the one with actual experience in relationships, is lost while Yuzuru seems to know exactly what should be happening.

“Had to focus on training anyway. Can’t let Javi beat me,” Yuzuru jokes but there’s the slightest pause before his eyes follow his smile. It’s awkward but it’s trying, trying to go back to how it was, and Javier never thought he’d be ecstatic to be bluntly challenged in a random hallway again.

“Hmm, beating the Olympic Champion,” Javier rubs at his chin as if putting great thought into the idea. “I like the sound of that.”

Yuzuru laughs and it has more in common with a deep sigh of relief than a laugh. “You can try.” He slips his phone half out of his pocket and checks the screen for the time. “I should go. Talk to you at practice?”

Javier would hate to smother the glimmer of hope in Yuzuru’s eyes, so he says, “Yeah, talk to you tomorrow.”

The other man rounds the corner. His head bopping along to a beat even before he slips his earphones in. As soon as his shadow slinks out of view on the Persian rug, Javier collapses against the door, his spine colliding with a bam. He remains uncertain and unsteady. How does he expect to talk to Yuzuru if every conversation leaves him so drained? Time does not stop for anyone and it certainly doesn’t play any reversal games so how can they ask to return to the past? To before everything changed? 

He is so lost in his thoughts that when Raya opens the door, having mistaken the thump of Javier’s back for a knock, he nearly falls flat on his ass. Raya catches him.

“Whoa, you okay?”

Javier wonders when people are going to stop asking him that inane question. “I’m fine.”

—

Crowds help. Practices where Javier can chat with Brian or do his quad salchow combo again—the one he missed at Sochi. Lunches where he can turn to another skater when the ground beneath him starts feeling a little too shaky. But he forgets all about the terror of Yuzuru in the singular form or of unsteady ground when Yuzuru comes rushing to meet him after the long.

He stops himself right in front of Javier, barely half-a-step away, and grins. “Good job. Knew you can do it.”

Javier laughs. He is a two-time Worlds Bronze Medalist, and he pulls Yuzuru in the rest of the way, hugging him tightly. “I should say that to you, World Champion.”

“Both of us. Good job to both of us,” Yuzuru says, every word carrying the weightlessness of laughter.

For the rest of the day, Javier thinks he manages to time travel.

—

Javier ignores his instincts to seek out Yuzuru before the banquet. Instead, he dawdles about his room, tying and retying his necktie and fiddling with his cuff links. By the time he descends to the banquet hall in the hotel, Yuzuru is already there, holding court. A year ago, Javier wouldn’t have given it a second thought before approaching the crowd of admirers but a lot has happened in that year, and it leaves Javier on the outside, alone.

He grabs a drink off a passing tray and wonders bitterly if that’s what it’ll be like from now on. Banquets will become photoshoot time with the Olympic Champion. As it turns out, even champions as magnanimous as Yuzuru get tired of the attention eventually, and Javier spots him hiding outside on his way back from the bathroom.

“Hey, Yuzu,” Javier says as he approaches where Yuzuru has cleverly positioned himself in an out-of-way corner.

The other skater jumps at the greeting, spinning around and letting out a sigh when he sees Javier. “Oh, it’s just Javi.”

“Just Javi? What does that mean?” Javier teases.

Yuzuru rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. You don’t want photo or to talk about nothing for long time.”

“Ah, I see how it is.” Javier leans against the wall next to Yuzuru. He feels a stupid spike of pride, knowing that his presence is still a safety for Yuzuru. “Sick of people.”

“Not sick,” he insists, loathing to talk badly about anyone even when they aren’t there. “Just tired.”

“Well, the season’s over now. We’ll all get a break soon.”

“Are you doing Stars on Ice in Japan?” Yuzuru asks. He turns so his back is against the wall as well, mimicking Javier’s pose.

“Yeah, I am. You’ll have to be my tour guide again.”

“Only if Javi can be my tour guide in Barcelona.” His smile dissipates quickly, shifting into concern instead. “I hear you don’t want do Grand Prix series, but you have to with Final in Spain, right? Is your goal.”

“Yeah, I’m doing it.” Javier doesn’t even bother trying to figure out how Yuzuru knows about that. The other skater always knows a lot about the status of everyone at the Cricket Club for someone who claims to dislike conversing in English for long periods of time.

“Yay,” Yuzuru cheers only for it to slowly morph into a yawn.

“Maybe you should go to sleep,” Javier suggests, biting back a laugh.

“I think I will.” He stifles another yawn into his hand and pats Javier shoulder as he leaves. “Goodnight, Javi. I am glad we are talking again. Missed you.”

The sleepiness must be making Yuzuru more honest, or maybe after so many confessional conversations, honesty is coming easier to him.

“I missed you, too.”

Yuzuru shoots one last smile over his shoulder and it is slow in its ascent through the drudges of exhaustion, but it is one that Javier knows well even after everything.

—

By the time the first show for Stars on Ice rolls around, they have pretty much returned to normal. That is to say, Javier and Yuzuru talk and don’t acknowledge the kiss or anything that came before or after it. They do such a good job that nobody could’ve guessed that things have changed between them. It’s exactly what Yuzuru wants and Javier? Well, Javier still doesn’t know what he wants.

That’s speaking in a generalized existential sense though. He knows exactly what he wants in the moment. He wants to find Yuzuru, who promised to take him out for food after the matinee show, before he starves or tries to eat the sushi shaped plushy that someone gave him.

“Kanako, have you seen Yuzuru,” Javier asks as he comes jogging up to the door of Mao and Kanako’s dressing room.

Kanako makes eye contact with Mao and rolls her eyes. “He’s with the girls.”

“The girls?”

“Not just the girls,” Mao corrects, giggling. “There are aunties, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yuzu-kun is with fans in lobby,” Kanako explains.

“Thanks,” he says and ducks back out of the room before the girls try to rope him into something embarrassing. It’s never a good sign when Mao and Kanako are getting too giggly together.

He is a man on a mission. He is also very hungry and fairly optimistic that he can pull Yuzuru away from whatever he’s doing and they’ll be on their way. However, he enters the lobby and comes to an abrupt halt, his feet freezing before the rest of his body so he almost falls over. Javier knows that Japan is wild for figure skating and that Yuzuru is popular, but he doesn’t think that he’s ever seen it like this.

His back is to Javier but even from this angle, Javier can see the other skater’s arms laden heavy with presents. More importantly, he can see the faces of the people surrounding him. They’re looking at Yuzuru as if he had hung the stars with his bare hands. He turns to answer a girl’s question and Javier catches the smile on his face that is bright and easy.

Somehow without Javier noticing, Yuzuru had decided to grow up. The boy with the floppy bowl cut and awkward elbows is gone, leaving an Olympic Champion in his place. While Javier wasn’t paying attention, Yuzuru had changed. There was a confidence about him now that settled his shoulders. Yuzuru’s nineteen and a borderline heartthrob in Japan. The intensity of those brown eyes no longer looks so out of place on his face. It all fits together with porcelain skin and a cupid bow mouth. It hits Javier all at once that Yuzuru is kind of attractive.

Javier doesn’t know what he wants, but he’d like to know _something_. How is he supposed to tell if he’s gay? What if it’s normal to sometimes find other guys attractive and it’s not a sexuality thing? Would it be terrible to accept Yuzuru’s confession? He likes Javier and it would be all too easy. Javier doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but he could figure it out. With Yuzuru. The tempting thought is so sudden that Javier starts to back away from the crowd when Yuzuru finally notices him.

“Javi, wait for minute. Then we can go, okay?”

He nods in response and watches as Yuzuru scurries back to deposit the gifts in his dressing room and the fans disperse with a chorus of disappointed noises and a few upset glances at Javier. Yuzuru, as always, takes Javier’s lighthearted request for a tour guide very seriously, and the other skater consumes the hours of Javier’s day, eating away at the time. And every time he’s with Yuzuru, he is reminded of that thought. The sight of Yuzuru’s smile becomes a look of possibility and Javier’s mind becomes a mantra of _what if what if what if_.

This sort of indecision goes on for over a week until Javier ends up talking to Kanako one day. The girl finds him alone during practice and sits down next to him in the stands.

“I know Yuzu-kun told you how he feel,” Kanako says very blatantly, swinging her pretty sandals back and forth.

Javier nearly chokes on his water. “Then why are you so nice to me?” he demands, recalling her cold treatment at the Olympics.

“Why not?” She shrugs. “Why you think I be mean? You want me to be mean? I can.”

“Please don’t,” he deadpans. “It’s that you were so rude about Yuzuru and me being friendly at Sochi.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “That different. Yuzuru hope for crush and you let him act stupid but now he know and can get over.”

Javier nods along at her words. They force a stab of guilt into his gut as he remembers his less charitable thoughts. What Yuzuru needs is to move on from a schoolboy crush and it would be terrible of Javier to jerk him around to test out a hypothesis, a mere possibility. It wouldn’t be fair to Yuzuru, and the last thing Javier wants is to hurt him anymore than he already has.

—

“Good morning, Meryl. Can I sit here?” Javier asks. He pats the heart-shaped back of the chair with the hand not carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes, eggs, and fruit from the hotel’s self-serve breakfast.

“Of course,” she says, grinning openly. The American ice dancer is kind and charming, the type of person capable of initiating a conversation with anyone. She huffs quietly at something on her phone. “After so many years, you’d think that people would stop asking me if I’m dating Charlie. He’s married for heaven’s sake.”

She rolls her eyes and shows Javier the Instagram comment. He cringes at the overuse of emojis and exclamation points.

“They’re probably new fans or something. Just caught on with the Olympics.”

“Probably,” Meryl agrees.

“Have you two never thought about dating?” asks Javier.

“Honestly, no,” she answers. “We’re best friends but we’re also co-workers. We compete together. There’s always been too much that could go wrong.”

“That makes sense,” he says blankly.

Javier thinks that there must be something wrong with him. Everything seems to remind him of Yuzuru nowadays. Their relationship is a fragile equilibrium. It operates on known constants and occasional fluctuations of temper, and he isn’t willing to risk all that for the purpose of, what? Experimentation? Yuzuru deserves better than that. There’s too much at stake. Their friendship, their training set up, their dynamic as competitors.

Javier abruptly remembers something Brian said to him long ago. It was in Finland in 2012. Yuzuru had gotten up to go to the bathroom or something like that. Being the mischievous kid that he was, he tickled the back of Javier’s neck as he left and scampered off laughing.

Brian watched his students’ antics and commented with an air of forced casualness, “I see you two are getting along.”

“We are,” Javier agreed. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” the coach answers. He opens his mouth as if he wanted to say something more before deciding against it.

“If it’s a good thing, why do you sound unhappy about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m probably thinking too much.” Brian smoothed both hands onto the table with a sigh. “Don’t mind me. I must be getting old.”

Javier didn’t think much of it back then, but there are some worrying implications that come with the idea that being close to Yuzuru was dangerous. He wonders if this is what Brian meant. The danger of what could be lost.

Maybe Kanako was right, and Javier should just let Yuzuru should move on. Who is Javier to ruin this? He is unable to find the answer to that question the same way he is unable to find the answer to all his other questions. In lieu of asking any more bottomless inquiries, he asks Meryl to borrow her phone charger.

Time does not wait for anyone. Next week he will be back in Toronto. The week after that he’ll go to Madrid. Before any of them will have taken a long enough breath, another season will be upon them. The more Javier deliberates the more he suspects that the sand of an hourglass is running out.

—

Javier didn’t mean to join. He was going to his apartment when Sara pulled him in by the back of his shirt as he passed by Dave’s door, claiming that she hasn’t seen him in ages. Now, he’s in the kitchen, grabbing a water from the fridge and trying to remember if he fed Effie before practice today.

“Hey, welcome back to Toronto,” Tom says in the same unimpressed tone that he adopts with nearly everything.

“Hey,” Javier responds and he doesn’t muster up the same vitriolic irritation towards the other man. It’s nice. That type of anger is draining.

Tom stoops to get a drink of his own and the kitchen falls into a quiet relative to the rowdy music and chattering of the living room.

“I think you were a little right,” Javier whispers and almost immediately wishes he could take it back.

“Right about what?”

Javier chokes a bit on his next breath. English used to be hard for its unfamiliarity, for its grinding of syllables that should be smooth. It’s never been so hard because of the difficulty of the words themselves. He inhales and exhales, the wind shuttering and rankling in his throat. Breathing is a voluntary act. He doesn’t know what compelled him to try and say it now to a virtual stranger but the pressures of knowing and thinking are bursting at his edges. If he doesn’t say or do something, he thinks he might explode.

“I’m not gay, but I might be, I don’t know, bisexual or something. I still like girls but I don’t know, I guess. I’m not like 100% sure but yeah,” Javier stutters his way through the confession. Wow, what an ineloquent way to put it.

“Okay,” the messy-haired man says.

“Okay?” Somehow Javier expected more.

“Yeah, okay.” Tom pushes away from the fridge and steps closer to Javier, pressing a finger cold from the condensation of his bottle to Javier’s chest. “You don’t have to come out or anything like that. I know you’re kind of in the public eye and stuff, but now you’ve said it out loud. You may change your conclusion again in the coming months. Identity is a tough thing, but you’ve decided that it’s important enough to tell someone about. No one can take that away from you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this.”

From somewhere in the living room comes a violent crash. Javier jolts and tries to peer around the door frame at the chaos.

“Ah, has anyone told you that Dave picked up sai swords?” Tom remarks with an amused quirk of his lips.

“No, I did not know that.”

Tom laughs. “Something tells me you’ll be hearing a lot more of that as his neighbor.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m going to check on the damage. Nice talking to you, Javi.”

And with that Tom is out of the kitchen in the passing of sandalwood. It’s bizarre. Javier thought that admitting this to another person would only double his stress but it hasn’t. If anything, he feels lighter. Especially, between his shoulders. He’s been keeping so much of this inside of himself that the act of sharing is liberating. It’s being stuck in your room all day during the height of summer and when you finally crack open a window, you’re met with blessedly cool air.

—

Summers in Toronto are always brilliant. It comes in full swing, bringing skies of piercing blue and flowers of all colors set against lush green. Javier believes that people laugh more freely in the summer.

The weather has already put him in a buoyant mood when he enters the rink that day. Standing at the center of the rink is Yuzuru dressed in white with his head tilted up. Javier doesn’t say anything, silently changing into his skates and gliding to the well-worn spot at Yuzuru’s side. Together, they stare up at Yuzuru’s name in gold lettering. Olympic Champion. World Champion.

“Congratulations,” Javier whispers. He’s said those words a lot this season.

“Thank you,” Yuzuru says and he is content in a way that is all too rare. “Next season even better. You too, Javi.”

“Right.”

“I will see you in Barcelona.”

“Yes.”

The ice shines golden with the summer sun that dances through the glass panes above their heads. Yuzuru is content, satisfied, appeased. He is looking to the future with bright eyes, and Javier is carried along, swept up by the levity. Momentarily, Javier can close his eyes and pretend like the feeling will last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly not expecting the reaction from the last chapter so this one took a while to get done because I wasn't sure if I could live up to expectations lol. Special shout out to the Harry Styles album for helping me pull through.


	12. liminality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the 50k monster: autumn, comfort, things you don't talk about, Barcelona, and tapas.

The feeling doesn’t last, but Javier is getting ahead of himself. It covers a duration but not long enough by far.

In August, Javier asked, “How did you know you like boys?”

Yuzuru answered with a shrug, “Always kind of know.”

“Have you told a lot of people?” Javier thought about Yumi’s smiles that sometimes seemed a bit forced.

“Not really.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “Family know and are good to me. Don’t hide if close friends ask but is personal thing. Mine.” He laid a hand on his sternum.

“So you wouldn’t come out to the media and stuff?”

Yuzuru chuckled bitterly, “I like having sponsors.”

“That sucks,” Javier said and it felt like a terrible understatement.

“Don’t mind. I like that it is mine and it is for me.”

Javier supposed that he’d never seen it that way. Yuzuru was always doing interviews and documentaries and he appeared happy to share himself. Sure, he didn’t have any social media, but everything about Yuzuru’s skating was striving for that connection with people. It didn’t occur to Javier that Yuzuru liked the privacy.

Yuzuru pressed start on the next game and the conversation was over. Maybe Tom was referring to this. The private knowledge can be enough. It doesn’t have to be a grand stand for it to be yours, to be something that no one else to take away.

In September, he went back to Spain and ate out plenty with Laura. He was too lazy to cook, and Laura was too tired after a day at work. He decided to tell her. Not everything. Not Yuzuru or Tom, but himself. Because that’s the part that matters. Himself.

“I think I might be bisexual,” he said with his heartbeat thumping under his tongue.

She swirled her straw through the last watery dredges of her coke and said, “I can see it.”

“You can? How?” How could Laura tell when he wasn’t sure?

“I don’t know, but now that you tell me, it makes sense.”

The topic drifted away into tangents and anecdotes. It might sound ridiculous but hearing Laura say that settled something inside of Javier. Laura must know him better than almost anyone else on this earth and to hear her say that it doesn’t sound crazy or delusional is reassuring. If his own sister believed that it could be true, then that means it wasn’t all in his head. It was validating.

At the end of the meal, as they got up to leave, Laura wrapped her arms around his chest and said, “I love you, Javi. No matter what. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do,” he whispered into the side of her head.

At the end of October, Javier gets a silver at Skate Canada, and in November, it all falls apart a little.

—

Autumn has always been too long in Javier’s opinion. It’s a transition and who allows transitions to drag on for entire months? Allows withering and decay to take center stage? Autumn is a grind and it sucks. This year more than most, it seems.

Javier wasn’t there, obviously, but he did watch it live and felt as his heart relocated to somewhere between his liver and his spine. The bandages and the falls and the sobs are things that will not leave him for a long time. Javier stops thinking about Yuzuru entirely while Yuzuru also becomes the only thing that he can think about; he means that all thoughts about Yuzuru’s confession and what to do about it evaporates and evolves into an itching worry.

Brian must’ve noticed Javier’s turmoil because he asks Javier on his first day back, “Do you think I should’ve let him back out on the ice?”

The part of Javier that elected to migrate his heart without counsel is answering with an immediate and decisive no, but the rest of him understands Yuzuru on a base level and knows that Yuzuru would not have been remotely okay if he’d missed his shot at the Grand Prix Final this year.

“I don’t know,” Javier answers honestly.

So Yuzuru recuperates and training goes on as usual, and the crash just becomes another item on the list of things that Javier and Yuzuru do not talk about along with earthquakes and Morozov and confessions.

Yuzuru doesn’t stand for pity or anything resembling it so the more Javier tries to take care of him, the more Yuzuru pushes him away, but Javier’s mom used to pick up extra shifts at the post office and his father got a second job all to support him. Javier learned love like work for it, and he doesn’t give up.

Yumi must be overbearing as well because Yuzuru takes refuge in Javier’s apartment. On his grocery run, Javier spots the same brand of tea that Yuzuru has at home. Impulsively, he throws it into his cart. The next time Yuzuru swings around, Javier makes him a mug of it.

Yuzuru looks at it with utter betrayal and disgust, spitting out, “I’m not baby, Javier. I am fine. Don’t need you to treat me like sick child.”

He doesn’t listen to any of Javier’s pleas to talk to him and doesn’t go to the apartment for a week, which is probably for the best as it coincides with Javier’s competition at the Rostelecom Cup. He returns with a gold medal and a spot in the Final, and when Yuzuru returns to his visits, Javier persists to make mugs of green tea.

At first, Yuzuru ignores it, stubbornly letting it grow cold at his elbow. Then, he’ll drink it but only after five minutes and some pointed glowering. Eventually, he accepts it without fight, muttering a thanks while he continues to read and sipping from it immediately.

Javier counts the campaign as a victory when Yuzuru brings a teapot one day. His explanation is a rolling of eyes as he says, “You put too much leaves in one cup. Taste too bitter.”

Yuzuru putters about Javier’s kitchen, boiling water and pouring it into the pot along with what Javier can only assume is the appropriate amount of tea leaves. He makes two cups and forces one upon Javier despite his protests.

They lean against the counter, drinking green tea. Javier tries to hide his faces of displeasure while Yuzuru hums contently.

“Look.” Yuzuru leans over, pointing at the surface of Javier’s tea. From this close, Javier can smell the shampoo in Yuzuru’s hair, and he can also imagine the giant bandage wrapped around it, and he wants to shield him from the world, to tie him to this kitchenette with green tea and good humor. But Javier doesn’t think he would like Yuzuru half as much if he weren’t the way he was, absolutely ready to take on the world in its entirety.

“What am I looking at?” Javier asks, his heart beating somewhere wrong again.

“Tea leaf float like that is good luck,” Yuzuru explains, gesturing at a single leaf floating upright.

“Oh, are you a fortune teller now?”

Yuzuru rolls his eyes and knocks his shoulder into Javier’s hard. Some tea spills over on Javier’s hand and onto his white shirt, but Javier can’t bring himself to care. Yuzuru doesn’t smile much nowadays. He hesitates and deliberates over the action until the joy passes. This is the closest Javier gets, an amused huff, a roll of his eyes.

—

Amidst all this talk about tea leaves, the last leaves on the trees have yet to fall. Javier stares out at the clusters of trees along the road and wonders if there’s any luck to be found in the last leaf clinging onto a branch. He doesn’t think so.

“Thanks for waiting with me,” Nam mumbles. His mother was running late to pick him up, so Javier offered to stay with him.

“No problem,” says Javier with a bit too much cheer. The teenager has been more subdued this season, his first senior season. He sits on the steps of the Cricket Club with his arms wrapped around his knees like a vice.

“It was scary. The crash,” Nam confesses, and Javier did not expect to hear this story from Nam of all people. “But it was quiet. There wasn’t any yelling. Just a lot of whispering and people moving about. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought maybe he got knocked out, but then people were saying they were both fine, and they’ll skate anyway.”

“Brian knew what he was doing, and it’s fine now.”

“Is it?” Nam demands, craning his neck around to glare at Javier. “I asked him about it today, and he snapped at me. Has he talked to you about it?”

The worry bleeds through Nam’s inquiries, and Javier thinks about all this from Nam’s perspective. This was his first international senior event, and he watched as someone, who was the favorite to win by a wide margin, fall hard. Yuzuru is the Olympic Champion, and Nam trains with him. Nam probably expected Yuzuru to win more than anybody else there.

“No,” Javier answers.

“You hang out with him all the time. Does he seem okay to you?”

Javier thinks about the lack of laughter, the haunted look, the dark bags that speak of sleepless nights. It’s strange. When Yuzuru first came to the Cricket Club, Javier saw him as a kid, but it’s been awhile since their dynamic has been like that, so where is this protective instinct coming from?

“He’s okay, Nam. Don’t worry about it,” he says, ruffling the teenager’s hair.

He doesn’t know if Nam believes him. He certainly doesn’t believe himself. The leaf that he’d been staring at before finally falls. Javier scoffs. Autumn sucks.

—

Javier isn’t able to watch men’s long program at the NHK Trophy live due to the time difference and his own practices. The next morning, he scrapes together a light breakfast and debates whether he wants to watch the full competition or just look up the results when he receives a text from Nam that is nothing more than a Youtube link and the word ‘omg.’

He immediately puts down his bowl of cereal and pulls up a barstool at his kitchen counter, and he watches Yuzuru through his tiny phone screen. He doesn’t watch the video until the end (He doesn’t need to. Another message from Nam pops up midway through the performance that says ‘Fourth?!?!’). Instead, he catches Yuzuru saying something as he pants and stares into the audience stands. Javier doesn’t know Japanese, but he knows the look on Yuzuru’s face. He saw it on himself in most of his older videos. He saw it on Laura right before she quit. He saw it on Cortney more and more towards the end. He can’t stand for Yuzuru to look so, so sad and defeated.

Before he can think about time zones or other such logistics, Javier is calling Yuzuru on Skype. For a couple minutes, Javier worries that Yuzuru might not answer at all. Then the screen crackles into color, showing those brown eyes that Javier knows so well and a dazzling Tokyo night. He’s on the balcony, which doesn’t surprise Javier, but the rest of Yuzuru does. The young man has his legs pulled up onto the hotel chair that he probably dragged outside. He rests his head on the arm crossed over his knees as if its weight is too much for him to bear. The phone is held in his other hand, stretched out in front of him. Javier can’t quite hold back his gasp at the sight of his friend so broken down.

“Hey, Javi,” Yuzuru whispers. He tries for a smile that comes out more as a grimace.

Javier takes a deep breath. “What did you say, Yuzu? At the end of the long?”

“Is important?” Yuzuru refuses to look at Javier, turning to the bright city lights instead.

“Yes.”

Javier is all the way across the world, but he can’t seem to shake off the thrum in his veins telling him that he needs to do something. Yuzuru doesn’t speak, so Javier waits patiently, listening to the quiet hitches as he tries not to cry.

“ _Owatta_. I’m done,” Yuzuru says finally, his voice cracking and traitorous tears leaking from his eyes.

“Oh, Yuzu,” Javier breathes, watching through a phone screen as the boy with nerves of steel breaks down into sobs.

They stay like this for a long time until Javier’s cereal is soggy and disgusting and Yuzuru’s sobs have receded into occasional sniffling. Yuzuru still isn’t looking at Javier, and Javier had averted his eyes as well. He can’t stand seeing Yuzuru so unhappy and knowing that he can’t do something as simple as hug him. Javier has never been the best with words, but right now for Yuzuru he’s willing to try.

"Do you remember Worlds 2012?" Javier begins carefully.

Yuzuru nods, finally looking at Javier with confused, watery eyes. Javier chuckles. Obviously, he remembers. After all, who could forget young Romeo?

"Of course, you do." Javier braces himself for the rest of this story, for the words that he’s never said out loud before. "Well, for me, it was another terrible Worlds result in a long line of embarrassing Worlds performances. I had just switched to Brian, and I knew that it was helping a lot, but at the time it didn't feel like it. I really wanted to quit."

Yuzuru is listening raptly now. His pale face is turned towards Javier. Every once in a while a stray tear will roll down his cheek, and Javier will be gripped by the impulse to help him wipe those away.

He ignores this and keeps talking. "But then, I remembered how I felt watching your performance, and I knew that I wouldn't have been able to walk away from figure skating."

"How did I help?" Yuzuru asks, tilting his head quizzically. "I was competition."

"I'm getting there." Javier sticks his tongue out and receives an amused huff of air for his efforts. "You reminded me of why I fell in love with this sport in the first place. I was thinking so much about the competition that I forgot how important it is to give a performance that you're proud of and that other people can enjoy. The score is the score, and losing is losing, but that's not why I skate and you reminded me of that. For a second, forget about losing or winning, forget all your disappointments. All you need to ask yourself is if you still love skating."

Yuzuru seem to be taking Javier words very seriously. He stares wonderingly at the distant skyline in. The lights have washed out any chance of stars, but the way they reflect in Yuzuru’s eyes create something to the same effect. They’ve painted a scene on Javier’s phone that is dark and silent in its deep purples and solemn blues with Yuzuru’s face as its sole focal point. It is a universe away from Javier’s bright Toronto morning and his whitewashed kitchen walls.

"So?" Javier prompts after a long few minutes.

Yuzuru exhales loudly. "I am very happy you not quit and you saying I help make me happy, too."

"And?"

Yuzuru smiles at Javier. It is still sad with the yet undried tear tracks and trembling bottom lip, but it is also tentatively hopeful, crinkling the corners of his eyes with it.

“I think I do."

“Good,” Javier says. “You are the strongest person I know, Yuzu. You can do this.”

“Thank you, Javi,” Yuzuru says, smiling Javier’s favorite smile. The one that turns his eyes into melted chocolate. The one reserved for Javier when he makes Yuzuru tea or when he brings him another souvenir. It makes Javier’s heart skip a beat, and he ends up just staring slack-jawed at Yuzuru for a bit, willing his heart rate to slow down.

Javier clears his throat and laughs awkwardly, trying to shake away whatever weird stupor he temporarily sank into. “Well, it must be late over there. I should’ve thought of that before calling you.”

“It’s okay. Couldn’t sleep anyway,” Yuzuru admits.

“Can you sleep now?”

“Yes.” Yuzuru rests his cheek on top of his arm so Javier is greeted with a sideways yawn. “Goodnight, Javi.”

“Goodnight, Yuzu.”

Javier hangs up quickly and is forcefully dragged back into the bright morning and the whitewashed walls. He runs a hand through his hair and groans at the sight of his ruined breakfast. He drops the bowl into the sink, deciding to just buy something on the way to practice instead. Maybe he’ll even go in earlier today.

Grabbing his keys and his practice gear, Javier leaves his apartment and the strange moment that he just shared with someone on the other side of the world. He writes it off as relief after all the scares that his reckless friend has given him this season.

Whatever it is, it isn’t important enough for Javier to think about right now. He has a Grand Prix Final in Barcelona to deal with.

—

With the Final in Barcelona this year, Javier flew in even earlier than everyone else and has been doing promo for what feels like forever. Brian sent him off with a firm clasp on his shoulder and a sage warning to “not let it go to his head.” Javier doesn’t know what that means, but he promised that he’d keep it in mind just to assuage the coach’s concerns.

He finds out what it means the hard way when he messes up during the short program. He gets to feel a hometown crowd for the first time, and he is not prepared for it. Fifth after the short is really not where he wants to be right now.

Javier’s in the warm up area with Brian and Yuzuru. The tension crackles in the air around them. Sitting on a plastic chair by the wall, it hits him. He’s going to miss the podium in his home country. The first time an ISU competition is brought to Spain and he’s going to disappoint everyone.

The cheers of the audience rings all around him and presses the air _down_. Suddenly, all he can think about is falling, letting everyone down, losing the competition, and he’s choking. He’s choking and he isn’t seeing anything anymore because his entire family is here and they’re going to get to see him fail and it’s all too much. His breaths are coming hard and fast and the cheering turns to static. He stares down at his knees as the periphery of his vision blurs out. Is he having a panic attack? But he hasn’t had one of these since going to Toronto. _What’s happening? What do you do when you want something too much?_

Then, a pair of hands with tapered fingers, slender like willow branches, come into view. They curl around Javier’s hands and instinctively Javier tangles his fingers with them. It’s Yuzuru, and he’s saying something. Javier isn’t sure what, but his voice is a lulling rumble. He thinks that Yuzuru is saying something in Japanese. It’s two words, repeated over and over again. It’s probably something cliche like ‘in’ and ‘out.’

Yet it helps. Soon Javier can register how the tips of Yuzuru’s fingers have been strangled red and his own knuckles are a starched white, and he wills his hold to loosen. Their heads are tipped close together. Yuzuru could probably kept count of Javier’s breaths by the way they ruffle his bangs.

“Better?” Yuzuru asks.

He whispers, “Yuzuru, I can’t do this.”

Yuzuru tilts his head and smiles up at Javier from where he’s kneeled at his feet. “Of course, you can. You can do in practice then you can do here.”

Javier shakes his head. “No, it’s too much. I don’t know how.”

“Javi,” Yuzuru says, his tone lightly admonishing. “You going to leave me on podium by myself? That not very nice.”

This yanks a panicked chuckle out of Javier, which Yuzuru takes that as encouragement.

“I believe in you. You are such amazing skater. I look up to you. You can be happy even when competition hard. I came to Canada because of you.”

“What?” Javier can’t have heard that last part right. He must still be lightheaded.

“Javi improve so quickly and jump so amazing. Wanted to train with you, learn from you, and you teach me so much, so I want you on podium with me, okay?” Yuzuru punctuates his question with a sound whack to the side of Javier’s arm and a raised eyebrow.

“Okay.” Javier laughs quietly. He thinks that his hands might still be a little shaky but he’s feeling better.

“Good,” Yuzuru declares, standing up and patting Javier on the head. In the blink of an eye, he’s on the other side of the room, chattering on to Kikuchi.

Brian is by Javier’s side now. The coach steals a glance at his other student over his shoulder before settling all his attention on Javier. “Want to go for a walk? Warm up your legs a bit.”

“Sure.”

The two of them trail back and forth backstage, and it only takes Brian five or six minutes to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me this was bothering you, Javier?”

“I didn’t even know until now,” Javier admits.

Brian sighs but doesn’t sound all that surprised. “You know the story of the Calgary Olympics, right?”

Javier nods.

“After so many years, I think what feels worse than getting silver is that I was miserable at the Olympics. I was miserable at competitions because I would let the pressure get to me and I would flop. I know it’s hard Javier, but don’t let it get to you so much that you end up hating how you skate.” Then Brian says the phrase that they’ve all heard a million times, that Javier could probably recite in his sleep, “Trust your training. You put in the work.”

“Thank you, Brian,” he says.

“You’re welcome. I believe in you, Javi,” the coach says with a couple hearty thumps on the back.

Javier breathes heavily through his nose. He can do this. If both Brian and Yuzuru are willing to believe in him, then some fraction of that belief must be true. Through a lot of mental monologuing, Javier pulls it together for the free skate and earns himself a silver medal. He thinks that the way to lessen the burden of wanting is to allow others to help you, to talk to them. It’s sad that it’s taken him so long to figure it out.

At the victory ceremony, as they are lined up at the rink entrance, Yuzuru leans over and says, “Told you so.”

“Yeah, you did.” Javier laughs. “Why do you always have to be right?”

Yuzuru pretends to think about it as if this weren’t a well-rehearsed bit of theirs by now. “Don’t have to be. With Javi, just am.”

The champion grins at him and all the nerves rush out of Javier’s body like a good kind of exorcism, and it hits him that he’s starving. He was so anxious earlier that he’d only managed to nibble on a protein bar.

“I’m hungry,” Javier complains, clutching his stomach and groaning.

“Me too.” Yuzuru sighs. “Was so nervous today. Couldn’t eat.”

“Really?” Javier asks, quirking an eyebrow. “You sounded very confident earlier.”

“I know. Had to act for Javi.” Yuzuru says this honestly, balancing on the tips of his skates to watch the zamboni work on the other side of the rink.

How does Yuzuru know exactly what to do? Javier squints at the back of Yuzuru’s head as if he could find the answer there. As long as Javier has known him, Yuzuru has been a certainty, an unwavering pinnacle. He came into the Cricket Club, all seventeen years of him, and laid claim to the Sochi gold, and he worked until he made it a reality through sheer force of will. He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to get it. Even the crash this year has slipped away with the months, and he stands before them a conqueror. Javier wishes he could take some of that unshakable confidence for himself, but he supposes that was what the pep talk was, lending Javier the bravery he needed.

“We should get food after the ceremony,” Javier suggests.

Yuzuru peers over his shoulder, his eyes dark and wide. “But it’s late.”

He laughs and thinks about weekends spent with friends and the feeling of purposefully eluding sleep in favor of something far more exhilarating.

“Not late for Barcelona.”

—

Javier waits outside the arena. The air is appropriately chilly and his breath is white enough to match the smoke leaving the mouth of the lethargic janitor on break. There are people trickling out of the front doors. None of them pay him any mind, so he waits, unbothered, for a familiar slope of the shoulders.

Yuzuru walks out with bleary eyes and a humming energy. His hair is still swept to one side from his performance, but he is all bundled up in his coat with the too-long sleeves and his blue circle-scarf. He has been softened around the edges, and the city smells like frost and nighttime.

“Where can we find food?” he asks, coming to a stop squarely in front of Javier. Yuzuru has a habit of placing himself directly in front of whoever he’s talking to. Most people will hang around at an angle but not Yuzuru.

“We’re going to the Gothic Quarter. There’ll definitely be food there.”

“So you don’t have real plan. We walk until find something?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Javier answers cheerfully while Yuzuru sighs as if Javier had told him they were going to wander headfirst into the abyss. “It’ll be like thirty minutes by bus.”

“That’s okay,” Yuzuru says, shrugging and pulling his face mask into place.

Javier knew that Yuzuru wouldn’t mind the extra trek. As much as Yuzuru might whine about the hour or the lack of a plan, insomnia hits him hard after competitions. Yuzuru once compared it to how the hood of a car will still be warm to touch even after you’ve turned off the engine. The event ends but he can’t force his brain or body to shut off yet. Meanwhile, Javier has a neat trick of being able to fall asleep basically anywhere at any time. If he went back to the hotel now, he’d be out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow. But he doesn’t mind going out with Yuzuru. He’s always been a bit of a night owl, and he’s more than happy to showcase Spain.

The bus is big and red, and it rolls across the asphalt with a smooth crunch. Yuzuru settles comfortably into the plastic seats more than anyone has a right to. He points at the passing scenery and asks questions. What is this? Where are we? What’s that mean? Javier answers each one in turn to the best of his ability. The thirty minutes of horrible seats and cold toes is worth the look on Yuzuru’s face when he steps out onto the crowded streets of _Las Ramblas_.

The road stretches four lanes in each direction and either side of it is a sea of light. The lamps and billboards and traffic signals reflect off the wet cement and the glossy cars like fish swimming in a pond. The streets provide a unique symphony of music and laughter, car horns and humanity. Yuzuru nearly gets bowled over by a couple stumbling into each other and them. Javier laughs and snaps a hand out to steady him.

“Careful. It’s a lot to take in, but if you look too much like a tourist, you’ll get tricked,” Javier warns.

“I think I will look like tourist no matter what,” Yuzuru complains, gesturing at his general demeanor. His mouth is hidden, but Javier’s sure he’s pouting.

“Maybe this will help.” Javier unhooks the mask from behind Yuzuru’s ears and leans back to inspect his own handiwork. “Much better. No one wears these in Spain unless they are very, very sick.”

“Give that back,” Yuzuru demands, stretching out a hand for it.

“Nope, I’ll keep it safe for now.”

Javier tucks the mask into his coat pocket. The other skater concedes defeat and begins walking down the sidewalk. Javier trails a step behind at first, rubbing the tips of his fingers together where they’d grazed the soft hair behind Yuzuru’s ear. Yuzuru continues unwittingly. His astounded gaze is turned on the street performers and the signs designed to dazzle and attract, yet all this modern vitality is set against an antiquated architectural style. It presents a stunning contrast. Dark eyes dart between sights, unable to decide on a single point to land.

“Hey, this looks like it’d be good,” Javier says, interrupting Yuzuru’s exploration.

He pulls Yuzuru by the coat sleeve so as not to lose track of each other in the Saturday night bustle. He leads them into a restaurant that looks like the appendix of the building. It’s been relatively spared from the mobs of people while still appearing clean and orderly, which Javier thinks Yuzuru would appreciate in a choice of venue.

“What type of food?” Yuzuru asks, craning his neck around like a disenfranchised giraffe.

“Tapas. They are small things. Sometimes people eat before meal,” Javier says, sweeping a hand at the display photos in front of them. “Do you want me to translate the menu for you?”

Yuzuru tilts his head at the menu mounted onto the wall above them and says, “It’s okay. I can eat whatever Javi pick.”

“If you don’t like it, we can try somewhere else,” Javier promises. 

Yuzuru leaves to find an empty table outside, and that’s when Javier realizes that his hand had ended up wrapped around Yuzuru’s wrist in the part between his glove and his sleeve. He’s so thin yet so strong. Javier appreciates the contradiction. He doesn't know if it's weird to say that he's really proud of Yuzuru. This first half of the season hasn't been easy, and Javier saw how hard Yuzuru worked. They come from the same place, and that has to count for something.

Soon, Javier departs from the warmth of the little shop and reenters the world of winter, where Yuzuru has planted himself at a table that affords a perfect view of some street performers. He comes bearing a tray laden with food, but Yuzuru pays him no attention.

His eyes do not leave the dancers as he says, “Look, Javi. They are so good.”

“If you think they’re so good, then you’ll have to leave them some money,” Javier says, jerking his head in the direction of an upturned hat at their feet.

“I will,” Yuzuru decides before turning to the food. “It smells good.”

And it does. _Calamares, banderillas, tortilla paisana_. All of Javier’s personal favorites and not too heavy for Yuzuru’s tastes. Javier disregards Yuzuru’s attempts to pay him back and they settle down to eat. Neither of them seemed to have realized the full extent of their hunger until this moment, and it takes a good five minutes before they remember the motions of conversation.

“Event people want me introduce you tomorrow in exhibition,” Yuzuru says.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I’ll be introducing you, right?”

Yuzuru nods. “I want to do in Spanish.”

“In Spanish?” Javier can’t quite keep the incredulous tone out of his voice.

“I can do it,” he protests.

“But why?”

“Because we are in Spain. That is very important to you and to event people so should say in Spanish. Javi will teach me,” Yuzuru explains as if it were obvious.

“Okay,” Javier agrees. His chest swells with gratitude for his friend.

They trade bits and pieces of Spanish between bites of food and bursts of laughter. Yuzuru’s lisp when speaking English rears its head with a vengeance in Spanish. It is endearingly horrible, and by the end of it, Javier’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

“My family wants to invite you and your mother to lunch after the exhibition. Will you come?” Javier asks as they clear their table together. He silently pleads with Yuzuru to accept the invitation.

“Yes, of course,” Yuzuru says with a widening grin. “Love to. Thank you.”

“Good,” Javier sighs. “My mom also heard that it was your birthday last week. She wants to know if you want a cake or anything. We could get a small strawberry cake.”

Yuzuru shakes his head, his bangs flopping about with the direction change. “Don’t want strawberry cake.”

“Then what would you like?”

“What did Javi say favorite dessert was? Start with F?”

“Flan?” Javier is shocked that Yuzuru even remembers this.

“Yes, I want try that,” Yuzuru confirms.

“I’ll tell Mama, I guess.”

They’ve cleared away most of the trash, and the crowds are starting to divert from the stretch of restaurants to the strip of bars the next block over. The hum hasn’t dimmed. It’s simply moved on as liveliness tends to do.

“It’s late. We could take a taxi if you want,” Javier suggests, flashing the time stamp on his phone.

“No, no, I like bus,” Yuzuru insists. “Like how it make me feel. Small.”

Javier doesn’t think he gets it, but at the same time he thinks he might understand perfectly. As they walk back the way they came, Yuzuru drops 20 Euros into the upturned hat.

—

The exhibition goes off without a hitch. The crowd is as receptive as it has been all weekend, and there’s talk about Barcelona hosting the event again. Someone gives Yuzuru an Espana shirt of a stark red and yellow, which Yuzuru wears proudly as he introduces Javier. The Spanish could use more work, but it’s the thought that counts and the audience eats it up. Javier never rehearsed his bit, which he probably should’ve done in retrospect. Yuzuru squints at him suspiciously the longer he talks and presses for a translation the moment his performance is over. In the end, Javier was simply honest. Yuzuru is the strongest person he knows. A _conquistador_ , a soldier.

Lunch also goes wonderfully. Enriqueta and Yumi hit it off despite the language barrier that has their children playing amateur telephone-translators. As the meal winds to a close, the waitresses bring out the flan to Yuzuru’s great excitement.

Laura leans over and says in whispered Spanish, “I like him.”

“Good, I thought you would,” Javier responds in kind. Although, he’s unsure what necessitates the mode of secrecy.

“You should invite him back to Spain soon. Take him to Madrid.”

“I don’t know about Madrid, but the Final might be back in Barcelona again next year. He should be back for that.”

“He’s not going to come again before then?” Laura asks skeptically.

“No, he’s busy and so am I. Why would he?”

She pins him with a pointedly blank look and says slowly, “You know you can tell us anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know that. What are you on about, Laura?” Javier demands.

Before his sister has a chance to explain, Yuzuru is serving him a plate of dessert, and Javier loses himself in the tumultuous course of conversation through three languages. When Javier checks again, Laura is talking happily with their dad and the cryptic suggestion is almost entirely forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently abroad for a month where I have limited access to social media so I might not be able to respond to messages in a timely manner. However, I can deliver this chapter to you.


	13. apotheosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in my manifesto of purple prose and imagism: time, distance, clouds, being alone, and becoming a champion.

The shopping center gleefully blasts Christmas carols over the PA system. Javier might be one of the rare souls who doesn’t mind the way stores seem to forget the existence of other songs unrelated to the holidays during the month of December. Javier thinks there’s something to be said about the Christmas cheer. There’s a sense of family that permeates everyone’s lives. It’s a time for things that are steeped in tradition and mysticism. Not to mention, the decorations look amazing.

Laura does not hold the same forgiving regard for music choice and begins grumbling to herself the instant they enter the doors. “Let’s get your presents and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Normally, Javier would return to Toronto for a week or so after the Grand Prix Final to prepare before Spanish Nationals, and during that time, he would procure all presents needed for the holiday. With the Final in Spain, Javier elected to stay in Madrid until the competition and neglected to get enough presents as he needs. He has the ones for his parents and Laura but has nothing for his more extended family.

“Let’s get some things for the kids first,” Laura all but commands, heading for a store without checking to see if Javier follows.

And of course, Javier follows. The toy store is small but well stocked with character-themed lamps placed strategically throughout the store to soften the overhead lights. The shelves are lined with an assortment of toys: houses and action figures, dolls and cars.

“Have you thought about what you will get them?” Laura asks, fiddling with the top of a model airplane.

“For Arcadio, a train as always,” Javier answers. Laura cracks a smile at this. Javier has given Arcadio a train every year since the boy’s first Christmas with them, and Arcadio’s never quite satisfied with Christmas until Javier gives him the toy train. “I’m not sure what to get Amaranta though.”

“She’s been really into the new Disney movie, Big Hero 6. You should get her the marshmallow guy from that,” she suggests, pulling him towards the back corner which is home to a plethora of stuffed animals.

Javier only has a vague idea of what the marshmallow guy looks like, but the marshmallow guy isn’t exactly unobtrusive so he trusts that he’ll know it when he sees it. Or maybe Laura will simply find it for him.

“Are you staying until New Years this time?” Laura asked.

Javier nods and his sister grins back at him.

“Good, it’s been a while since you’ve stayed so long mid-season.”

“It’s been good. I got to witness Mama’s decorating craze in person again,” Javier jokes, bumping his shoulder into Laura’s and earning another grin from her.

“Aw, look,” Laura says, plucking a toy off the shelves. She holds a stuffed Pooh about the size of Javier’s fist, turning it around and around. It’s iconic red and yellow matches with the Spanish flag stitched to its right paw. “It’s so cute. Do you think Yuzuru would like it?”

Javier snorts. “Trust me. He has more than enough of those.”

“Well, I think I’ll buy it anyway. It’ll be my Christmas present to him.”

“They don’t celebrate Christmas in Japan,” he says, smiling to himself as he remembers the obstinance with which Yuzuru tends to fill that phrase.

“Then it’s just a souvenir because I like him,” Laura says, rolling her eyes. She stops turning the toy about and stares at the button eyes with a soft look. “Do you remember the first time you came back talking about Yuzuru? It was in 2012 I think. You got him a Pooh thing.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Has it been two years already? Time flies,” Laura half-whispers to herself and Javier aches an ache that he knows well.

It is a reminder that even when he is gone, life goes on. His nieces and nephew grow taller. Laura gets a promotion. New lines of crow’s feet crowd the corners of his mother’s eyes. His father’s laugh, that used to boom like a fallen tree, gains a sandpaper quality. Time passes.

“See this is how I know you’re getting old, Laura. You sound like a pensioner already. Is this a gray hair?” Javier teases, playing with perfectly brown strands of hair.

“Oh, forget it. You’re just a stupid boy. Still so immature,” Laura says without any real bite. She’s smiling as she pokes at Javier’s forehead.

“You love me.”

“I do. God knows why.”

“My charming personality?”

“Sure.”

They grin at each other like idiots. Laura tosses the toy to Javier, instructing him to hold onto it. She then returns to the shelves with determination to find what they need and escape the repetitive music.

Javier gazes at the toy and its squished yellow face. Time passes but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. He thinks that the time has been kind to him. He’s grown a lot, found his confidence. He feels more secure than ever before. He’s not the same boy he was when he left all those years ago, running after something he couldn’t even name.

—

Christmas comes and goes, and Javier spends not a small amount of time alone on the balcony, worrying. The texts are unenthusiastic at best and dismissive at worst, and Javier doesn’t know where that leaves him. Caught in the hairline fracture between concerned and irritated, most likely.

Surgery. Now there’s an awful thought. Someone that Javier cares about, that should never have to know hurt, lying on one of those stiff and sterile hospital beds, and there’s nothing for Javier to do.

In the end, it’s a text from Yumi which informs Javier that Yuzuru is recovering well and should be on the ice again by next Wednesday.

As soon as he reads the message, Javier hits the call button beside Yuzuru’s contact name, knowing that there might be no answer. The pattern of their texts don’t look favorably upon the chances of one. Every infinitesimal ring braids Javier’s nerves into coils until they’re a hangman’s noose.

Against all odds, there’s the static click of someone picking up the call and a hoarse croak of, “Hello.”

“Hey, Yuzuru,” Javier says, sounding off even to his own ears. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Yuzuru wheezes.

Javier doesn’t hold back his noise of disbelief. Yuzuru is a terrible liar, but he’s equally bad about telling the hard truths. “Are you really?”

Silence crawls across the electric lines, through wires into waves into an ear on the other side of the planet. Then, quietly and honestly. “No.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I am,” Yuzuru breathes in once, twice. “I am not knowing how I feel.”

“Does it hurt?” Javier asks. Maybe that’ll be an easier answer to find. Physical pain is easy to catalogue for an athlete: a bruise here, a bump there, a surgical incision and the ensuing stitches.

“No, they give medicine for it. It’s okay,” Yuzuru says. “Did you know Tatsuki retire?”

The topic change is so abrupt that Javier almost doesn’t catch what Yuzuru is asking. Tatsuki Machida announced his retirement at Japanese Nationals with no forewarning. Javier read about it on Twitter. “Yeah, I heard right after.”

Yuzuru hums a solitary note. “I feel like it is only me now.”

“What do you mean?” Javier asks, dread filling his stomach drip by drip like a leaking faucet. Yuzuru sounds distant, distracted.

“Nothing. I need to go. I am tired and want sleep. Sorry make you worry, Javi. I am okay now.”

Another static click. The call ends. 1 minute 46 seconds. Not even three minutes.

Javier stares at the home screen of his phone and feels a chill enter his bones. Almost all of the Japanese team that Yuzuru competed with less than a year ago have retired now, and Yuzuru is being stupidly evasive. He doesn’t like where this is headed.

—

When Javier was little, around the time they were teaching the water cycle in school, he used to have a recurring dream about clouds.

He would be adrift among them, uselessly milling his limbs around but unable to move through the sky. He ran through the blue in slow motion and reached out expectant hands for the clouds as they turned to barely-felt, moist wisps in his fingertips. It always ended with him waking up frustrated and feeling as if he never slept at all.

Javier jerks awake at the sound of a flight attendant announcing their imminent landing. He rubs at his eyes with a harshness, relishing in the solidity of the motion. It’s been a long time since he last had that dream, back when winning international competitions felt like an impossibility. He’s on his way to yet another European Championships, and he doesn’t know why it’s returning to him now. He stares out the window at the clouds below and doesn’t think about what he might be losing hold of.

—

Sometimes it feels like a good portion of Javier’s competitive skating career is spent in airports, a criss-cross of international flights spanning the globe. Madrid and Toronto and wherever an event calls him to next. Rinse and repeat.

On Tuesday, Javier wastes away in the waiting terminal of the Stockholm Arlanda Airport as a three-time Europeans Champion. After so many years, Javier is accustomed to the ritual. He settles down in a chair, kicks his feet up on his suitcase, and plays a merry-go-round of social media.

Brian makes a scoffing noise at something on his laptop and rubs a hand across his face.

Javier quirks an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, but I don’t know about _him_ ,” Brian says, gesturing at his screen.

“Who?”

Brian’s jaw stiffens as if, in his exasperation, he admitted more than he intended. After a beat, he says, “Yuzuru.”

“Yuzuru?” Javier sits up, putting both his feet on the ground. The Japanese skater hasn’t talked to Javier since the short-lived call in January, providing flimsy excuses for why he didn’t answer a call or why he couldn’t find the time to respond to Javier’s messages. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know if I should be telling you all this, Javi. You’re still competitors at the end of the day.” Brian sighs, shutting up Javier effectively.

It’s easy to let it slip from his mind that Yuzuru’s friendliness isn’t a given in sports, that what they have is an anomaly. Although, with the way things look now, maybe even that isn’t a given. Javier says numbly, “Yes, of course.”

“What I will say is that Yuzuru’s decided to stay in Japan until Worlds and is keeping me updated through email.”

“What? Why?” Javier asks.

“It’s complicated, but I’m worried.” Brian shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

Javier has a suspicion that the "complication" is referring to Yuzuru’s many injuries. “About?”

It’s a testament to the trust between them that Brian tells him any of this, trust that Javier will not use this information against Yuzuru, trust that he will understand Brian completely. Maybe if Javier wasn’t panicking a little about it all, he’d find the time to be grateful that he has established such a bond with his coach.

“I’m worried that Yuzuru might want to switch coaches,” Brian says and Javier swears that his heart stops beating.

“Wh—what makes you think that?” he stutters.

“He’s been distant. This season’s felt different, and I’m not really sure where we stand.”

“Oh,” Javier says. He means to follow up the soft noise with something else, a comment, a remark, a clever quip, maybe even another question. Instead, he is incapable of conjuring anything suitable in response and the ‘oh’ remains a standalone statement.

Brian sighs again, but not the usual sigh that is evoked by Yuzuru and his antics, colored with fondness and familiarity. This one is sadder, deeper. Javier thinks that the only time he’s heard Brian sound so sorry was—well, back in 2011, when Yuna left and everyone seemed to come to him for an answer, for an explanation, and he had none to give.

“Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m just overthinking it,” Brian says, returning his focus to his laptop and succinctly ending the discussion.

Javier only wishes it were that easy, but now that Brian has introduced him to this thought, he can’t forget it, can’t simply not listen. It’s already entered his ears and been seeded there, burrowing deep into Javier’s mind.

—

“Hey, Javi. Back from practice?”

Javier stops halfway up the stairs and turns back with a smile. Dave is leaning out of his doorway at a ridiculous degree angle, using one hand to hang onto the door frame. With his messy hair and wide mouth, he looks every bit like an wild monkey.

“Yeah, just got back.”

“Cool. Hey man, has Yuzu come by recently? I haven’t seen him. I want to ask him about how his new headphones are working.”

Dave continues to stare openly and unassumingly while Javier thinks his stomach might be in his ankles. He makes sure there is no waver in his smile.

“Nah, he’s been training in Japan. He should be back soon. I’ll let him know you wanna talk.”

“Thanks. Tell him I said good luck, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.”

—

The first day of official practice ends in Shanghai. Yuzuru nods without looking at Brian, and Brian sighs so deeply that Javier thinks Pooh’s tissues move with it. Javier grabs his skate guards, gripping them hard enough to leave parallel grooves in his palms. Mechanically, he snaps them in place and steps off the ice.

He can’t believe that this is still happening. He tried his best not to think about the worries that Brian expressed with him and imagined that everything had returned to normal. Clearly, that is not the case. He proceeds in the same jilted motions, unlacing his boots and pulling on his sneakers, and the more he thinks about the whole messed-up situation the angrier he gets. He doesn’t understand what Yuzuru is thinking.

Before Javier realizes it, he’s incensed. He can’t remember the last time he was so angry with someone. Brian has helped Javier more than he thought possible. Dammit, he’s helped Yuzuru leaps and bounds, so why is Yuzuru forsaking their coach? Allowing him to fall victim to the reminders of goodbyes? What does he gain from avoiding Brian or ignoring Javier?

He catches Yuzuru’s back turning the corner into the restroom. Without further deliberation from any factor other than frustration, such as sensibility or logic, Javier stalks the length of the hallway and slams into the bathroom, unsuitably dramatic for someone of his age.

Yuzuru spares him half-glance through the mirror. “Hey, Javi.” He bends over, splashing water onto his face.

“Hey, it’s been a while since we’ve talked,” Javier says. His voice is a false calm. His anger is chilled.

“Has it?” Yuzuru turns to the far wall, grabbing a few paper towels and rubbing his face with them. It’s evidence of how long Javier has known Yuzuru that he even catches the slight tensing of his shoulders. They inch imperceptibly towards his ears. “I not notice. Sorry. Been busy.”

Javier scoffs, crossing his arms and dragging out the syllables, “Right.”

“What you mean?” Yuzuru catches his eyes thought the mirror again, narrowing them.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not lying,” Yuzuru insists without any great offense or passion and the whole thing is cold, cold, cold.

“What game are you playing?” Javier snaps.

“Game? What game? I don’t know what you mean.” Yuzuru tries to push past Javier, stretching out a hand for the door handle. “I need to go now.”

Javier steps back into the door, leaning all of his weight on it. “Stop it with the bullshit, Yuzuru.”

“I don’t know what Javier want,” Yuzuru shoots back while pulling at the handle uselessly.

“I want to know what the hell it is you’ve been doing? What kind of strategy is it to keep shit from your coach?”

“That is not your business, Javier. Leave me alone.”

“No, you barely spoke to Brian during practice. What are you trying to do?” Javier feels his throat constrict at the desperate thought Brian had planted in his brain. He forces the words out anyway. He needs to know. “Are you trying to switch coaches?”

Yuzuru had been glaring at the linoleum tiles beneath the sink but his head snaps up the instant those words leave Javier’s lips. His eyes are a blind panic. It’s the most emotion Javier has seen from Yuzuru in days.

“How can say that? Why think that?” Yuzuru sounds broken-hearted.

“Brian thought that was what you wanted. English is hard for you and you stopped telling Brian important things. He thought maybe you wanted a Japanese coach who can understand you better.” The anger has drained out of Javier, and he explains all this almost clinically.

“No, never want that,” Yuzuru mumbles at his feet, sniffing loudly.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know!” Yuzuru cries, his eyes glistening with tears and the more he talks the more steadily they fall. “I don’t know what to do. Everything go wrong, and I not want bother Brian or Tracy or Javi anymore. I am Olympic Champion. I should know. Not go beg like child for help. I not want be burden. People expect me to win and if I don’t, people will be mad because I fail.”

Suddenly, Javier thinks he can see the mortality in Yuzuru. He can see all of him, skin and bones, flesh and blood. Twenty years-old and lost. Javier doesn’t know how, but he’d been lulled into a fallacy. He believed Yuzuru to be a source of unfaltering determination. It didn’t occur to him that all this wasn’t a strategy. It was a scared boy, not knowing where to go to fall apart. Yet he is so capable of it all, of doubt and fear and falling and a terrible, aching loneliness.

“Oh, Yuzu,” Javier says and it all melts a little. Yuzuru’s stiff countenance, his own frustrations. He brings a hand to rest on Yuzuru’s shoulder where he can feel the shudders vibrating in his palm. “No one would be mad at you.”

“You don’t know that,” Yuzuru says, sniffing loudly.

“Ah, but I do.” Javier lets his hand drift up to cup the back of Yuzuru’s head, his thumb stroking at the soft hairs behind his ear. He leans his head down to catch Yuzuru’s eyes, smiling encouragingly. “You are amazing at what you do. People won’t stop liking you if you don’t win. Brian won’t stop coaching you. I won’t stop trying my best to catch up to you, so don’t think so much. Trust Brian and Tracy. They’re here to help you. You’re not alone, okay?” If there's anything he's learned in the last year, it's that everything is easier when you don't feel so alone.

“Okay,” Yuzuru says quietly and his eyes are closed.

He seems to be swaying, at times leaning into Javier and at times leaning away. Javier could feel the pulling of this tide with his hand on Yuzuru’s neck. _His hand is on Yuzuru’s neck._ Javier snatches it away. He’s not sure how long he’d kept it there, just holding, but he’s sure it was longer than necessary.

“Well, we should probably go then,” Javier suggests with a trembling laugh.

“Right,” Yuzuru agrees, rubbing at his eyes. “How I look?”

Yuzuru’s eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks are flushed in a blotchy way. His bangs are a mess and he still sniffling. Yet his mouth is no longer so tight. He has a timid smile like morning rays, and it is miles of improvement from where he was. He looks good. Maybe not happy, but good.

“You look fine,” Javier answers.

He turns to leave and feels a tugging at the collar of his shirt and hears Yuzuru ask, “When did Javi get so smart?”

“It was gonna happen eventually,” Javier jokes, half-turning to look back at Yuzuru and to get away from the way Yuzuru’s knuckles grazed against the top of his spine. “C’mon, you can’t hide out in the bathroom forever.”

“Not hide in bathroom. You trap me in bathroom,” Yuzuru protests.

“Details.”

Javier holds open the door for Yuzuru as the other skater says, “Thank you.”

They both know that it wasn’t for the door. As much as the months have dragged because of those things left unsaid, this is one thing that doesn’t need to be made explicit.

—

They pile into the bus that will take them back to the hotel, and Yuzuru is next to him, their arms pressed together from shoulder to elbow. He is smiling, and he is happy, and Javier catches himself looking at the tilt of the corner of his mouth, at the eyes that are as bright as ever, at the bird-bone wrist poking out from heavy, black sleeves.

“I told you that you can do it,” Javier says, soft.

“You did and you are right,” Yuzuru answers in kind.

The short program event has ended late, and in the dimness of the bus, it is easy to believe that it is just the two of them. The passing street lights streak across Yuzuru’s profile like an old-fashioned slideshow projector, each illumination casting a different photo in the glint of his teeth or the turn of his chin. At official practice that day, Javier caught Yuzuru discussing diligently with Brian once more. Unasked questions and unprovided explanations still hang between them like a cold spot, but for now, it’s enough.

“Ah, I love hearing you say that.”

Javier closes his eyes as if truly savoring the sound. He hears a muffled laugh instead. He cracks open one eye to peer at Yuzuru who's making a wrinkle-nosed face.

“Stop it,” Javier says, poking Yuzuru’s cheek.

The other skater sticks out his tongue and turns away. They are both tired, and there is more to face tomorrow. Some silence is acceptable now, and it settles over them with light and warmth. Javier allows himself to be emboldened by the knowledge that he has finally skated Black Betty clean and that he’s only in second place by less than three points. Javier looks out the window, and Shanghai sings a song of car horns and skyscrapers, but not so loud as to cover the muttered thank you. Javier plops his elbow down onto the armrest and half-covers his smile with a hand. In the reflection of the window, he can still see an illuminated profile.

—

Javier no longer has any clue what is happening in his life anymore. First place? At Worlds? That kind of shit doesn’t happen to him. Winning World Championships isn’t something that people like him do. People with small federations and barely any sponsors, yet here he is.

Brian ushers him out of the kiss and cry with a prideful grin. People up and down the hall are congratulating him. The crowd is in an uproar distantly. Javier thinks he’s laughing, blubbering like a fool, but he can’t catalogue this in any intelligent way because he _just won the World Championships._ Even after all these years, all these competitions, and all that Javier has grown, he never actually imagined himself winning.

He’s led into some room that he’s probably been in before, but he’s not even sure at this point. And there in front of him is Yuzuru. People form clumps around them, but they seem to part for the new silver medalist to come through, and _oh Yuzuru._ Javier opens his arms and opens his mouth in a wide, wide grin. Yuzuru slumps forward with teary eyes, saying, “I’m not crying. Sorry. I’m not. I’m happy for you. I am. You work hard.”

“You work hard, too. You worked so hard, Yuzuru,” Javier says, cradling his face and leaning in close. “Don’t cry. I might have won today, but you are still the champion in my heart.”

Somehow this only makes Yuzuru cry harder, but there are some hitching laughs mixed in as well, and Javier knows that they will be okay, that Yuzuru will be okay. Yuzuru has had a back-breaking season, and it would’ve meant the world to him to win today, to prove to everyone and himself that he can overcome anything, but Javier knows Yuzuru. He is by no definition perfect or infallible, but he never accepts defeat. He will come rushing back at full-speed. Javier finds that, on some level, he trusts Yuzuru more than he trusts himself.

He feels as if for an immeasurable amount of time he has been chasing after Yuzuru, after this boy of stardust eyes, and he thinks that today he might’ve finally caught up.

—

During gala practice, Javier falls over in a terrible way. Flailing legs and wailing cries, the whole ordeal. He winds up flat on his back to a chorus of laughter and heckling.

Misha skates by while crowing, “Our Champion, ladies and gentlemen. How the mighty have fallen.”

Javier accepts it all with good nature, lying on the ice and bemoaning his fate. From somewhere to his left, approaches horse-like laughter, and before he knows it, Yuzuru’s face is upside down above him and surrounded by dazzling lights as he offers Javier a hand up. Time warps in on itself. It seems like only yesterday that Yuzuru did this for the first time—almost three years ago, before either of them knew each other—with the same obnoxious laugh and the same sympathetic offer. Suddenly, it returns to Javier what he said to Yuzuru yesterday, and he flushes at the memory. He allows people to believe that its embarrassment from his fall and laughs it off.

He said, _"You are the champion in my heart."_

The scariest thing is that Javier meant it. He meant it wholeheartedly. More than any other confession that he’s deliver to Yuzuru on a silver platter, more than any other secret that Yuzuru has coaxed ribbon-wrapped from his chest. Maybe that should’ve been the first clue—how easily connection came to them, how Javier never feels as comfortable in his own skin as when he is with Yuzuru—but it wasn’t. Instead, Javier is the World Champion, and his back is wet with ice, and a single, damningly concise thought crosses his mind.

_“Oh, I might be a little in love.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's been a while. I hope everyone's been well.
> 
> The names of Javier's niece and nephew are made-up and references to _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ by Gabriel Marquez (which is a lovely book btw).


	14. falling action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in emotional roadblocks and stupid boys: pride, bravery or the lack of, special shout out to FaOI's terrible shirts, in-betweens, and always moving forward.

Javier goes home. He allows himself to fall into the manic busyness that accompanies his first World title and leaves Shanghai without saying a word. Nothing that Javier has lived up to now equips him to deal with this. He isn’t the best with thinking before he acts, but he immediately realizes that Yuzuru is too important. He is too important for Javier to rush into it like he usually would, to say, _“Hey, you like me. I like you. Let’s give it a shot.”_ Javier can’t say that to Yuzuru—Yuzuru who does everything by all or nothing, who doesn’t seem to know how to not care too much, who lives life full-bodied.

Instead, he goes back to Spain where Laura hands him a sports magazine with his face on the cover, and he holds it as one would a dragon egg because there’s simply no way it’s real, that he’s made it onto the front cover in the midst of football season. Laura looks at him with a gratitude as if she were thanking him for carrying both their childhood dreams so far, and Javier doesn’t have to words to express how undeserving it feels and how much gratefulness he must swallow down every time he thinks about all that others have done for him. He swallows it down, and it sloshes heavy in his belly. Victory comes with a physical weight like water in his stomach.

Javier has been in Madrid for almost a week. It’s morning, the weirder part of the morning that’s pale and smoke-like that Javier only experiences when his jet lag conveniently coincides and he can’t fall asleep anymore. He’s been doing this for many years so he’s pretty good about shaking off the jet lag, but there’s something about returning to Madrid after the last competition. It’s as if his body realizes that it won’t need to be in perfect physical condition as soon as he lands, and it takes him an unreasonable amount of time to adjust when he finally goes home.

Javier is alone in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee. He makes sure there’s enough for his father’s deep-green mug and her mother’s thermos because while Javier will get the privilege of sleeping in and being a lazy bum for a bit, not everyone gets off-seasons in their line of work. He drinks from his own cup and breathes, taking in the coffee and the scented candles that Enriqueta likes to light at night and the edging of a rainy day.

As always, Antonio is awake before his wife as the only early riser in his entire family. He pads into the kitchen with a wide yawn and an even wider smile.

“Good morning, Javi,” he says. “Nice to see you up so early.”

Javier rolls his eyes at the not-so-subtle dig. “Jetlag. Couldn’t sleep. There’s coffee in the pot.”

“I’ve raised you right, son,” Antonio jokes, patting Javier’s head as he passes by.

Javier grins into his cup and leans back against the counter. Antonio pours his mug full and leans against the opposite counter. The two of them look like mirror images twenty years apart. The thought is a little jarring, so Javier avoids having to face it by checking his email.

“Huh,” Javier mutters.

“Everything okay?” Antonio asks because the house is too quiet and he’s a terribly nosy person.

“Yeah, just got an email about World Team Trophy. They want me to perform at the exhibition.” The exhibition at World Team Trophy. That means Yuzuru, who Javier wasn’t planning to see for another good while.

“When is that?” Antonio asks, pulling Javier’s attention back.

“April 19th but they’d probably want me over a day or two before that.” He squints at the email like maybe it would also include an attachment with advice on how to proceed when you are so completely out of your depth.

Antonio makes a noise of acknowledgement and sets his mug down. He clears his throat with a preparatory air. “I don’t think I’ve had a chance to really say this yet.”

“Say what?” Javier asks, half of his mind still on the email and his dilemma.

“That I’m really proud of you,” his father says, and Javier stares. His phone dangles stupidly in his hand. Antonio smiles and keeps talking. “You’ve been working so hard since you were little. Your mother and I have always supported you, but I don’t think we always understood you. I, especially, didn’t get your passion for it, but you’ve done it. You made a lot of hard decisions like leaving for places so far away from home and alone. That was all you, Javi. You brought yourself to this gold medal, and I am so proud of you. It took a lot of bravery.”

Javier scrutinizes the crown molding, studies the coffee pot, squints at the dust particles drifting in the cold shafts of light. He doesn’t look at this terrifying mirror mirage. His stomach lurches with everything that is wrong. He’s thinking, _“No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong. Nothing I’ve done was by myself. I couldn’t have gone half this far without you or Mama or Laura, without Brian or Tracy or… Yuzuru. It’s me who should be thanking you.”_

He chokes, “Thank you.”

Antonio smiles as if he expected the subdued reaction, as if he gets the waterlogged gratitude behind it, and leaves with a pat to Javier’s shoulder. Javier stays in place, listening to his father get ready for work the same way he has for the last twenty years that Javier can remember.

—

Javier would like to file a formal complaint against the universe.

No one ever told him that falling in love would be like this. Everything he'd ever watched or read promised him a whirlwind romance, a love so abrupt and life-altering that you immediately knew. No one told him that it could be slow and subtle, that it could be the coming of high tide. They never said that you could be lying on the beach, taking a nap, and by the time you wake up the water's up to your neck, and all your clothes are soaked and ruined, and you'll probably have to either walk home in the heat or brave the metro system as a dripping mess of sea and sand.

Love wasn't supposed to be like this. Love wasn't supposed to be Javier looking up one day and realizing that this silly Japanese boy with floppy hair holds approximately half his heart already. This is false advertising, and Javier would like a full refund and a sincere apology.

These thoughts are still rumbling through Javier’s head when he goes in for the exhibition practice in Tokyo. He enters the building and feels a little bit like he might hurl. It’s one thing to realize that he likes boys as a distant, abstract concept. It’s another thing entirely to say that he now has a thing for his best friend.

Said friend is blissfully unaware of Javier’s arrival or his inner turmoil. In fact, Yuzuru is spinning away on the ice to a familiar electric guitar. Javier smiles despite himself. He sets his things down by the edge of the rink and watches. It’s an old program, a world record setting program, but Javier remembers those early days in Toronto of studying from afar, of growing and learning, before world titles and all those gold medals. Yuzuru finishes the program, holding his arm high in the air, and Javier claps his approval. Yuzuru turns to him and his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Javi, you’re here!” Yuzuru exclaims, reaching the boards in a few powerful strokes.

“I am. It’s good to see you, Yuzu,” Javier says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a lie or just a simple way to state a complicated truth.

“They tell me you come for exhibition. I am happy. We will have fun.”

“We will. You’re doing Parisienne Walkways?”

“Yes, people not able go Olympics last year are here now. Want to show them. too.”

“What did I say? I knew they would still love you,” Javier says softly.

“Yes, Javi did. I will say. You were right,” Yuzuru says the last part slowly, dragging out each syllable for Javier. The amused smile is enough to offset the otherwise patronizing tone.

“Ah, music to my ears, but you still owe me,” Javier teases because he can’t help himself.

“For what?” Yuzuru tilts his head and, bless his heart, looks as if he were earnestly expecting a complaint.

“For making me skate though all those Poohs after.”

Yuzuru laughs, and Javier is a goner because his immediate thought is that he needs to make it happen again.

“You are being dumb,” Yuzuru says with a fake glare from under his bangs.

Javier leans forward onto the boards and says with a pitiful pout, “No, I am serious. It was so hard. I almost tripped. I could’ve died.”

Yuzuru crosses his arms and does his best at unimpressed, and it feels like when Javier was younger and would flirt with the pretty girls during open practice, except there’s no pretty girl. Just Yuzuru.

“Poor Javi,” Yuzuru says sarcastically, bending down to pat Javier on the head. “Are you okay now?”

“Never better,” Javier blurts out. He melts imperceptibly into the touch and thinks he can feel the apples of his cheeks heating up despite the cold rink.

“Good, because you need practice to,” Yuzuru says, reverting back to training mode even though it’s just an exhibition at the end of the season. He peers over the boards and makes an affronted noise at Javier’s sneaker. “You are not in boots? Quick, change, then practice.”

Javier rolls his eyes. At this point, he is so used to the bossy tone that he doesn’t even drum up a witty response to it. He obediently moves to the bench and swaps his ratty sneakers for his skates. Soon, he’s on the ice with Yuzuru again, and it feels so right. The other skater is going on about something or another, a request from the organizers for Yuzuru to introduce Javier like in Barcelona. It doesn’t take long for Javier to get swept up in Yuzuru’s excitement.

When Javier stops trying to imagine what he expects or what is considered normal, it doesn’t feel so foreign anymore. Yuzuru’s always had an ability to get Javier to believe in things greater than himself. It makes sense for Javier to follow him in this as well.

Later that night at the exhibition, the lights are down in those bruise-like colors as they lap around one last time for the cheering crowd. Yuzuru catches Javier’s elbow right before they’re due to leave the rink. He leans in close, close enough for Javier to pick out individual eyelashes that look a navy blue.

“Your birthday last week. I have gift for you.”

The two of them have come to a stop by the exit, and Javier blinks at Yuzuru, his pale face cast in half-shadow.

“You didn’t have to,” Javier says, thinking about how he didn’t prepare a present for Yuzuru last year.

Yuzuru’s eyes shine in the bruised lights as he says, “Wanted to. You are best friend.”

Suddenly, it all slides into place. Yuzuru walks ahead and Javier trails behind, and it’s enough, it’s enough, it’s enough.

Javier has to go back to Spain first, and Yuzuru is staying in Sendai. Then they’ll have ice shows, but they’ll both have some time in Toronto during the in-betweens. Javier decides to wait because as much as he is fond of Japan, it is Yuzuru’s. Inexplicably, he wants to wait until Toronto. Toronto is theirs in a way that no other place is. Maybe it’s the transitive nature of their careers that leaves Javier with such a strong sense of place and how some places belong to people. Toronto is theirs because they made it so. They chose to leaves their homes behind, they chose to walk through its parks, to leaves green tea in kitchen cupboards in attempts to make a home. If Javier were to say anything about these feelings that still have downy feathers and wobbly feet, it would be in Toronto.

—

Fantasy On Ice’s final destination is in Kobe as usual, and Javier is severely questioning the clothing taste of the organizers as usual. It’s shiny and obnoxious but surprisingly soft, so Javier is willing to let it go. Personally, he’s more than ready for the show to be over.

Sometimes, it’s as if he’s reverted back to grade school and his first ever crush. Around Yuzuru, he forgets how to use his hands. Everything is amplified in an awful way. Every skipped heartbeat is hooked up to a loudspeaker. Every stolen glance is a neon sign, crying _look at me, look at how pathetic I am!_ Javier feels exposed and obvious.

After so many shows, Miki certainly has him figured out although she hasn’t said anything yet. She just looks horribly smug while Javier makes a fool of himself. She is sitting next to him in the common area similarly decked out in something shiny. If possible, Javier thinks that the girls costumes managed to be even more ostentatious. Most of the skaters have drifted in by now, waiting for the show to begin.

“Javi, take picture with me,” Miki commands, tilting into Javier’s side and snapping a photo as soon as Javier responds with a smile.

“What are you doing?” Javier asked amused.

“Send to Mom. She shows it to Himawari. She also take picture of Himawari for me. Wanna see?”

“Of course,” Javier says, scooting closer.

Miki swipes through a series of photos that include the little girl at her breakfast, coloring, and watching TV. She explains, “Himawari will be happy to see you. She watch Worlds and was cheering for you.”

“Does your Mom usually watch her when you’re away?” Javier asks, grinning widely at the thought of the little girl cheering for him.

“Yeah, I sometimes want to take her more places. Would be fun for her but there no one to watch her when I need work,” Miki says with a sigh.

Javier is struck by a brilliant idea, if he says so himself. He has already been talking to Miki about the possibility of an ice show in Madrid around Christmas, seeing if she would be interested in going. He considers her one of his closest friends, and it really would mean the world to him if she performed there.

“You can bring Himawari to Madrid and spend Christmas with my family before the show. She can have a nice holiday, and my parents would love to watch her,” Javier suggests.

“Really?” Miki asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, it will be great fun,” he insists, getting excited at his own idea.

“I will think about it. Thank you, Javi.”

“Anything for my favorite girl,” he says, pointing at the photo of Himawari still pulled up on Miki’s phone screen.

There’s a crash from nearly right behind them. Javier turns around to see Yuzuru apologizing profusely to everyone within earshot and to the growing puddle of water at his feet. The usually graceful skater had somehow managed to stumble into a table and drop his water bottle. Someone soon arrives with a mop and assurances to Yuzuru that he needn’t worry about it.

“Hey, you okay?” Javier asks, stretching over the back of his chair and tapping Yuzuru’s arm.

“Fine,” Yuzuru snaps. He gives Javier an impenetrable look that’s over in a glance and turns heel to leave.

—

The in-between ends up falling into mid-July. As it turns out, when you win the World Championships, you suddenly end up with plenty more items on your to-do list. Early July is trees of a deeper green, skies of a clearer blue, and Javier grumbling while turning on his rickety ceiling fan in the mornings. It is relishing in the cold of their sport and buying iced drinks at coffee shops.

Javier is simplistic and goes for a vanilla latte. Yuzuru, never having been one for coffee, fluctuates between smoothies and iced teas. There’s a Starbucks close to the rink, and Javier can sometimes convince Yuzuru to swing by with him after practices. The in-between is this coffee shop with their orders already placed and them chatting away at a table.

“You hear Patrick come back?” Yuzuru asks, tapping his fingers along the edge of the table and doing a terrible job at nonchalance.

“Yeah, that’ll be interesting. It’s never easy for people to come back after a year off,” Javier comments. It’s nothing against Patrick. They’ve always been cool, but it’s kind of a known fact. Coming back from a retirement is hard. It takes a lot of resilience.

Yuzuru makes a short noise, and Javier can’t tell if it’s agreement or not. The Japanese skater doesn’t appear inclined to continue the line of discussion at any rate. Javier’s phone buzzes. It’s a message from Gabrielle Daleman about her long program. He cracks a smile at the snarky comment about Brian.

“Who that?” Yuzuru asks.

“Gabby. She says that she’s finally getting her long program right. Apparently, even Brian looked impressed,” Javier answers.

Yuzuru nods solemnly and says without preamble, “You think Gabby is like you when you first join Brian.”

“I don’t know if I think that,” Javier says while thinking pretty much exactly that since Gabby came to the Cricket Club this summer, “but I guess I relate to her a little.”

Javier relates to Gabby a lot, which is part of the reason that he’s been so open about helping the younger skater adjust. They both sort of know what they’re doing but are sloppy and lack direction. Brian’s great with skaters like that, and Javier wants to make sure that Gabby knows she’s in good hands here.

Yuzuru opens his mouth as if to say something else, but is interrupted by the barista calling out their names. Javier’s name comes out fine, but Yuzuru’s has been butchered as usual. Yuzuru sighs goodnaturedly while sharing an exasperated look with Javier and goes to get both their drinks.

Javier takes the opportunity to respond to Gabby and also check his Instagram. He’s so entertained by the vacation photos of other Team Spain members that he doesn’t notice that Yuzuru’s been gone longer than he should. He’s brought back by Yuzuru plopping into his seat and sliding Javier’s drink across the table. Javier mumbles a quick thanks while Yuzuru keeps staring at the side of his own cup.

“Huh,” Yuzuru says, his face the perfect picture of puzzlement.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, I think. Worker ask me how say name and give me his number,” Yuzuru says, turning his cup so Javier could see the digits written boldly in black along the side. It stands out horribly against the translucency of the tea.

Javier eyes the barista. The man has returned to his work but there’s a suspicious pinkness to the tips of his ears from where they poke out of blonde curls. Javier can feel his gaze shift into blatant glaring. He can’t quite keep the disdain out of his voice when he says, “You’re not going to call him, are you?”

Yuzuru’s posture goes from relaxed to defensive instantly, and Javier regrets opening his dumb mouth. He narrows his eyes, and Javier thinks he can see the exact moment the shields go up.

“What do you mean?”

“I just—I mean, it’s—you can’t call him. What if someone finds out?” Javier stammers.

“I am 20, Javier. I can take care myself.” Yuzuru laughs humorlessly, and there is something calculating in his eyes. “Just because you don’t want me, not mean no one do.”

That statement and its painful honesty hit Javier square in the chest. Measured hurt. There is a drawn out silence during which Yuzuru seems to have realized what it was he said and ducks his head. He chews on his lip for a long moment, perhaps debating whether to say anything more. Instead, he gives some excuse about needing to get home and leaves. Javier stays.

He feels like an idiot. Somehow he’d never taken into consideration the possibility of Yuzuru no longer liking him. It sounds unbelievably cocky in retrospect. A year is a long time to wait for something that may never happen, and who’s to say that Yuzuru hasn't moved on in the interlude since.

Rejection crosses Javier’s mind, and he has to accept an ugly self-truth. He isn’t brave enough. He’s not sure he wants to hear any sort of answer. His feelings for Yuzuru, however he may chose to articulate them, come from the softest part of him. They come from some part of Javier that he didn’t know existed, and in the light of their recent discovery, he’d rather keep them to himself. Something just for him. He’s rather allow naive hope to live in the relief of ambiguity.

Yuzuru is the most brilliant person in Javier’s life, and at least for now, he is not brave enough to risk it. He stares at the glass door and wonders if he left too much time in the in-between.

—

As far as Javier knows, Yuzuru never calls the barista. Jealousy or possessiveness is not a problem. Javier is still Yuzuru’s closest confidant. When in Toronto, they spend the lion’s share of their time together. Javier is the one who gets to hear endless contemplations and interpretations of Yuzuru’s new long program. Nothing about any of that has changed. What’s changed is the _wanting_. Javier doesn’t understand how other people deal with this crap because Javier looks at Yuzuru and just wants.

Javier is caught on things that he normally wouldn’t, or maybe he never noticed it when he did, but now he stares at the crease between Yuzuru’s eyebrows when he’s really concentrating. He lingers on Yuzuru’s lips as he drinks, and he thinks soft shit like how much he wants to be a cup. Yuzuru fixes the collar of Javier’s shirt and the backs of his knees go weak. The training get up is plainly unfair. Yuzuru stretches his arms above his head and his shirt slides up, and Javier’s entire mouth goes dry. He swears that he must be going mad.

He certainly feels like he’s going crazy, watching Yuzuru slip into his ridiculous layers of clothing. It’s like a reverse strip tease, yet Javier can’t look away from the long fingers and the pale skin tinted pink with exertion. Yuzuru’s head pops through the neck of his jacket, his hair mussed and messy. He catches Javier’s eyes and grins, waving his goodbye. Javier waves back as Yuzuru leaves the rink, and yeah, he must be going crazy.

From in front of him, David snickers and Javier’s face heats up in record time. He’d forgotten that they were in the middle of correcting Javier’s choreography.

“Alright, Javi?” David asks and his grin is too much on this side of knowing for Javier’s comfort.

“Fine. Got distracted. What were we talking about?” Javier injects his voice with levity and hopes that it works at least enough for David to drop the subject.

David rolls his eyes and doesn’t call him out. “We were talking about Malagueña.”

“Okay, good.” There’s a long pause. “What about it?”

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?” David asks in a way that makes the question sound like a laugh.

“I told you. I got distracted,” Javier mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Distracted. Is that what they’re calling it these days?” David drawls. Thankfully, he doesn’t keep on about it and patiently repeats his commentary on Javier’s run through.

“Thank you, David,” Javier says at the end.

“You have a lot of momentum going into this season,” David says, quite out of the blue, but Javier’s been working with him for years now. He’s gotten used to the tangents of thoughts that David often entertained.

“I guess.”

“You can’t half-ass this short program. It’s like you get too close to getting what you want that you start to doubt yourself and you pull back. You can’t do that with this program. More importantly, you can’t do that with this season.”

Javier’s short program is intense. It’s not one where he can slap some playful charm on and call it a day. David’s warning makes sense, but he’s watching Javier as if he expects something more. It’s too careful and too shrewd, and it makes Javier want to crawl out a window just to get away.

“Yeah, I know that,” Javier says, taking a deep breath, “but what if I’m right to doubt.”

“Well, isn’t it better to know for sure?”

Javier lets the question hang between his timid stance and David’s sharp eyes. He’s only glad that David is allowing him this pretense of skating advice. He laughs as stiff as a block of wood.

“I got it, David. Got to be serious with this one.”

—

“Javi,” Gabby stage-whispers, gesturing for him to come closer.

“What?” he imitates her tone with a smile and walks over to her.

She presses her lips together and looks genuinely worried. “Is Yuzuru going to be okay?”

“I thinks so. Why?” Javier responds, and he wonders why he's become the go-to for Yuzuru's condition. First, Nam. Now, Gabby.

“I overheard him telling Brian last week that he wants two quads in the short program, and now David is in there with him, and he’s actually doing it.”

Gabby drags Javier by the arm to the windows of the lounge. Yuzuru has been tense since Skate Canada, but he hasn’t said anything to Javier that hinted to this. They watch as Yuzuru runs through his short program, imbuing Chopin with a growling ferocity. He falls on the second quad and gets up with a snarl to his lip that sends a shiver down Javier’s spine.

“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Brian trusts him,” Javier mutters.

Yuzuru came in second less than a week ago, and now he’s doing something insane with enough determination that it might actually happen. Javier isn’t sure why but he thinks the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. The last notes of piano ring in his ears like glass before it shatters, and he’s reminded. There’s no room for complacency in Yuzuru’s life. No hesitancy. No doubt. He is someone who is always in motion, always moving forward.

So where does that leave Javier?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I really have no reason for why this chapter took as long as it did but it's here now. The tone turned out v introspective and I'm not sure if I like it lmao. There's gonna be three more chapters after this so we're nearing the end. I always enjoy comments! I edit it myself, so sometimes I get so sick of reading it that I miss blatant mistakes. If you see any pls let me know!
> 
> I wanna thank Khalid and The Beatles for keeping me company. Also, Olympic season is here and I'm already screaming.


	15. the return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in the fic I conveniently forgot about for over three months: latchkey kids, Barcelona, rumors, and messing up.

“Javi!”

Maia makes a straight line for Javier, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. Her arms tighten around his ribcage and it paradoxically forces a laugh out of him.

He rubs her back and says, “It’s good to see you.”

Over the top of her head, he sees Alex approach at a more sedate pace because they are men and men do not squeal and run into each others arms no matter how long it’s been since their last meeting.

“What about me?” Alex quips.

“Maia is my favorite Shibutani,” Javier says with an exaggerated sneer in Alex’s direction.

“It’s nice to see you, man,” Alex says as they exchange one-armed side hugs because Alex is an incorrigible good sport.

It’s been awhile since they’ve been at the same competitions and even longer since they’ve been at the same ice shows. Nevertheless, they soon pick up right where they left off and chatter comfortably as they head off to find dinner.

Javier wonders briefly if this is strange. They call people who they don’t see for months on end their friends and act as if barely any time has passed when they meet again. Javier wonders if this has crafted for them an illusion that things will wait for them. So many of the people that Javier knows live like this, like sailors at sea, dreaming of shorelines they only see in passing. Javier wonders if that makes them latchkey kids of their own relationships, forever loving and leaving but never staying.

“It must be awesome to have the Grand Prix in Barcelona again,” Alex says, some time later around a mouthful of bolognese.

“It’s great, and not as crazy as the first time. I’m enjoying it more this year.”

“That’s good,” Maia says. “Alex and I are glad to be back too.”

“And I am glad to see you back.” Javier leans forward and covers his mouth from Alex’s view. “Just you, Maia. I don’t like your brother.”

Maia laughs while Alex protests, “I heard that!”

“We should hang out again after the competition is over,” Maia suggests, and there is a flicker of doubt in the twitch of her mouth because you can never really be sure where you stand with people you see a few times a year.

“Definitely,” Javier says.

—

You spend your life immersed in something and you’d think that you’d seen it all, that there was little left to shake you like this, but then the universe reminds you that nothing is ever that simple, that stable.

The scores come up, and Javier stands at the rinkside, shaking his head. There’s some stupid, dazed look on his face surely. It’s the highest score they’ve ever seen, and it takes him a while to even process it. It nearly eases the shakiness of Javier. It’s easier to think about fighting for second place. The pressure’s off. All eyes are not on you. Everyone expects the outcome already, and it’s okay if you also kind of buy into the inevitability of it, isn’t it?

From somewhere behind him, a voice says, “It’s just unbelievable. Like magic.”

For whatever reason, that sentence strikes Javier with a foreboding sense. He gets this knee-jerk, gut-wrench reaction of, _“No, not magic. Please don’t say that.”_ He doesn’t have long to contemplate it because Brian is patting him on the back, and it becomes his turn to do what he has to do. He catches the look on Yuzuru’s face of exhilaration and determination and the specter looming over them vaporizes with a single exchanged smile.

—

Some time between stepping off the podium during the medal ceremony and being pulled every which way for photos, Laura corners him with the biggest smirk on her face. The one that usually happens when she knows something that will screw Javier over.

"I see you finally figured it out," she says.

"Figured what out?"

"That you totally like Yuzuru," Laura says as smug as a human being could possibly be.

Javier nearly chokes on his own spit and has to contain his reaction, hyperaware of the cameras still hovering around. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything," she says, and at least this part is familiar.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me." Laura shrugs. "I've seen you go through many crushes now. I'm used to it."

"How long have you thought this?"

"Oh, only since Barcelona last year."

"What?" Javier exclaims.

"Yeah, you're real slow, Javi," Laura says, rolling her eyes.

"Javier, it's time to go please," an attendee says, directing Javier to step backstage.

"We will talk about this later," Javier says to Laura before going. She makes sure to stick her tongue out at him. Javier scoffs. Big sisters never get less annoying.

—

Javier has an arm around Maia’s shoulders as they leave the bar. His head tilts back and everything gets a little starry.

“Careful there. Don’t fall over,” Maia warns, trying to offer a steady support to him and not laugh too much.

“I’m fine.” Javier slurs, and he is. In fact, he feels more than just fine. He feels fantastic, and it only has a little to do with the drinks that came in neon colored cups and are now swirling in his stomach.

“Are you sure?” asks Alex.

“Yes, yes,” Javier stands on his own, drifting away from the siblings a bit. The night really is beautiful, he thinks, squinting at the shadow-glow of the streets. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll go back to hotel now.”

“Well, we’ll see you soon,” Maia says.

At the same time, her brother warns, “Don’t be a stranger, Javi.”

Javier waves the siblings off as they head in the other direction, presumably to join in with some of the other skaters who had gone out that night. Javier is feeling pleasantly warm despite the weather, and he knows (and neglected to mention) that there is surely someone else awake and alone right now, and what wonderful company that would be.

Before he knows it, he’s back in the hotel, something-number of floors up, and knocking on the door. When Yuzuru’s confused face comes into sight, it’s like jumping into a swimming pool on the first days of summer.

“Javier, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, an uneven jerk of his shoulders. “Don’t know. Wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Yuzuru says, barely holding back a grin at Javier’s inebriated state. “Want to come in?”

Javier nods and rather unsteadily follows behind. One of the beds is unmade, the white sheet draping onto the floor. The curtains are pulled back and the lamps are on, making half of the room a cold silver and the other a heartening gold. The foreboding unease trailing behind Javier is soothed as if the room had been waiting for Javier’s arrival. He thinks that maybe he was always going to end up here.

Yuzuru, of course, immediately heads for the balcony, and they have enough years between them that going outside in the middle of the night in winter after a long day is no longer a question. Javier steps outside and breathes in the shivering air. He holds it in, deep. It reminds him of the time in New Jersey when his friends tried to smoke him out. They tell you to breath in, and when you truly think you can’t breathe in anymore, hold it there, let it hit the back of your lungs and soak it into your bloodstream. That’s what the December air feels like to him now, and when he breathes out again, he can’t remember the last time he felt so at peace with existing.

“How much you drink?” Yuzuru asks as Javier clumsily stumbles into the unforgiving metal chair.

“Not so much,” Javier lies.

His thigh might bruise a bit from that. He shifts so he’s no longer resting against it. It would’ve perhaps been smart to stop after the fifth shot, but Javier was in the mood to be stupid. Yuzuru doesn’t drink because he never likes to seem stupid. Javier thinks that there’s something to be said for acting devastatingly irresponsible for a night and to give up control. Yuzuru isn’t the type of person to willingly relinquish control. Just another number in the ways that they are different, Javier supposes.

Yuzuru’s palm comes down on top of Javier's head, directing his face towards him. It is all night and sky and the lilting curve of Yuzuru’s smile when he says, “Liar.”

“Okay, maybe more than not much,” Javier concedes.

His head teeters back and forth as he tries to decide what is more dangerous: to lean in or to lean away. Yuzuru makes the choice for him. He laughs and gently pushes Javier’s head.

“Idiot,” he calls Javier. His voice is soft and fond.

Javier laughs back even though the way it vibrates through his skull isn’t helping the way his skin is buzzing.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“And happy birthday.”

“Thank you, but you are late.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a present. I wanted to,” Javier says, looking down at his hands and the stainglass of the streets framed by each bar of the balcony. He didn’t know if it would be too much to give Yuzuru a present now that he knows how he feels. He couldn’t decide. What do you give a man who has the world at his fingertips?

“Why didn’t you?” asks Yuzuru.

There’s an undertone to the question that Javier is too drunk to read. He settles for another uneven shrug and a jumbled, “I don’t know.”

“Of course, don’t know.”

Javier understands what those words mean, but he has no idea what Yuzuru could possibly mean by that. He looks up as if maybe seeing Yuzuru’s face would make his words clearer, but Yuzuru isn’t looking at him. His face is turned up and his eyes are closed. Javier’s gaze traces the outline of his throat, the shape of his lips, the shadow of his eyelashes on pale cheeks. There is a moment of suspended animation but no peace. Yuzuru does not look content or happy in that singular second.

“I know!” Javier exclaims, eager to jerk Yuzuru out of whatever he had fallen into. “I will give you Barcelona.”

Yuzuru doesn’t quite laugh, but the barely audible exhale tries its best to be amusement. “How is possible to give city?”

“I will spend all day with you tomorrow and show you Barcelona completely,” Javier promises.

“Okay,” Yuzuru agrees and the smile has returned and all is right.

The world is so delightfully cottoned, all fuzzy and soft, and Javier leans forward, resting his head onto his crossed arms and turns to peer at Yuzuru. He is in love all of a sudden, not with anything in particular. Just the world. With everything that he can see in his life today.

“You are tired,” Yuzuru comments as Javier drifts into the hairline fracture between sleep and wake.

“I am okay.”

“Sleep,” Yuzuru prompts. Javier doesn’t know if he imagines it, but he feels the gentlest of touches crush across his hairline.

“I should go back,” Javier says without moving. His limbs are too heavy.

“It’s fine. Stay here. Other bed not use.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.”

“No bother. You give me Barcelona tomorrow.”

The last thing Javier remembers with any real clarity is that moment. Yuzuru’s accent rounding out the syllables of Barcelona, all the ways in which some smiles are better than others, and the eyes.

The next morning, Javier has a killer hangover because he isn’t as young as he was and he didn’t drink enough water. Yuzuru is laughing, clinging onto the curtain that he had just thrown open. He has some Japanese rock group on full blast, and Javier would give up every medal he’d ever won just to make it stop. Instead of paining himself with voicing any of that coherently, he elects to shove his head under a pillow and scream.

The music stops, and Javier dares to peek out from beneath it at his torturer. He squints at Yuzuru who is too sunny. Or maybe that’s the light from the window. It’s hard to tell right now. The clock reads 8:37am.

Javier groans, throwing an arm over his face. “What the hell, Yuzuru? It’s eight in the morning.”

“I know,” Yuzuru responds, bouncing onto the bed and eliciting more dying noises from the lump formerly known as Javier Fernandez.

“Then why are you waking me up?”

“Because gala practice at 12 and you promise me Barcelona.”

“I did, didn’t I?” All of last night comes rushing back. Javier is glad that his arm is still covering his face, so he can hide his smile and pretend to be grumpy for just a bit longer.

“Yes. Up, up, up,” Yuzuru demands, tugging at Javier’s blanket.

Javier makes sure to put on a show of a man in extreme misery, but he doesn’t really fool either of them. Watching Yuzuru laugh and tease and express genuine excitement about the city, Javier doesn’t regret making the offer.

—

Javier thinks it would be too sappy to call this his favorite moment for all of Barcelona this year. He has to preserve some dignity, right? He’ll call it his favorite moment from this day though.

Yuzuru is leaning a little too far over the railing of the bridge. His hair is ungelled and blows gently with the breeze. His face turns upwards in the echo of the night before, but he is perfectly content.

“I like Barcelona. Thank you,” he says.

Javier is so glad. Yuzuru has a lot of reasons to love Barcelona this year. It’s not every year that you break every record in the sport, but maybe, just maybe, Javier gave him a reason outside of skating to remember the city by. Abruptly, he wants to show him Madrid, see what can be given there.

“You’re welcome.”

—

Christmas comes upon Javier in Madrid but without Yuzuru. Instead, it is in those days after Christmas but before New Years that feels like the most festive kind of limbo. Javier and Miki are back from another performance of his ice show. Himawari was put to bed hours ago by Javier’s parents. It’s just the two of them in half-dawn made by the Christmas tree no one’s bothered to take down yet.

Miki is nestled on the couch with a mug of warm water, which she swears by on cold nights, saying that it settles your stomach before you go to bed. Javier is on the other end of the couch with a quilt thrown over his legs, going through his social media.

“People seem to think we’re dating,” Javier says, skimming some of the comments on the Instagram post Miki made of them all at the beach.

“Not surprised. People like gossip,” Miki responds, barely even looking up from her phone.

“Have you ever thought about that? Like us?” He has no idea where he’s going with this line of questioning, but he feels like he has to say it.

“Maybe, but not really,” Miki says. She looks straight at Javier. There is no evasion, no avoidance in her gaze. She wants Javier to hear exactly what she has to say. “Maybe think about but doesn’t matter. I don’t want date right now. I have family and friends and Himawari, and I am happy.”

Javier nods, and he thinks he understands. Actually, he’s impressed. Miki has toughed through so many rumors, so many slanders, and she would rather stand on her own against all that than find a person to be her buffer. When it comes down to it, Javier just isn’t good at being alone. He needs people in a way that Miki doesn’t. That Yuzuru doesn’t.

"I think you should tell Yuzuru," Miki says.

Javier balks, his body physically recoiling from the idea. "What are you talking about?"

"Tell Yuzuru-kun how you feel." Miki smiles into the rim of her cup. "Trust me."

—

Laura thankfully doesn't say anything while Miki is there, but Javier can tell she doesn't approve. She sends a couple pointed glares as if to say, _"Are you forgetting our heart-to-heart already? And all the wonderful things you told me about Yuzuru?"_

Javier doesn't engage her with a response because he hasn't done anything wrong, and he'd like to stop being treated as if he did. He didn't expect this level of misunderstanding from people. They're only friends, and Miki even cleared things up on social media.

All he gets from Laura on the matter is a text at the end of the trip saying, "Get your shit together."

—

Yuzuru stomps into the locker room at the Cricket Club with a slamming of doors. He yanks his locker open with such force that it rebounds and collides with his own arm. He jumps back, cradling his arm and cursing in Japanese.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Javier says, standing up from the bench and approaching Yuzuru warily. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s bullshit,” Yuzuru snaps, and Javier can’t help but be taken aback by the English swear.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuzuru hovers by his locker, his eyes darting between the metal shelves and Javier. He seems reluctant to bring this problem to Javier, which is unusual. Yuzuru often uses Javier as a sounding board for his annoyances and irritations.

“Magazine say lies about me. Say I get married,” Yuzuru begins. The words are short and harsh, and his motions of packing match this effect.

“I heard about that. You’ve already denied it, haven’t you?” Javier attempts to sound casual about it like the news didn’t send him into a confused panic at first.

“Yes, but they still talk about, and they cause problems for everyone. They shouldn’t say these things at all.”

“Yeah, but that’s what the media does. They want a good story,” Javier says with a shrug.

Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. He stares at the far wall with a look of defeated resignation. Finally, he zips up his bag and leaves, only muttering a half-hearted goodbye in Javier’s general direction.

Yuzuru has always insisted that some things were personal, private. Javier wonders if this is the first time he’s been faced with the fact that reality might not be so clean cut.

—

Javier loves Effie, but she is such a nuisance sometimes. He’s probably spoiled the cat with too much attention because whenever she starts feeling ignored, she’ll wrap circles around his ankles. He’s gotten pretty good at maneuvering around that but today just isn’t one of those days. Javier almost makes it to the couch when he nearly face plants from tripping over his own cat. While he lays groaning on the floor, Yuzuru laughs at his pain.

“You’re silly,” Yuzuru teases.

“Yeah, yeah, can you help me up?”

“What would you do without me? Die because of own cat?”

Yuzuru strides across the room and pulls Javier up with one hand.

“Effie’s out to get me, I swear. She’s still mad that I threw her old bed out,” Javier says.

Yuzuru laughs, his entire face scrunching up with it. “You stay. I go get food. You will fall over Effie again.”

Javier leans against his kitchen counter and watches as Yuzuru moves in Javier’s space with an earned familiarity. He’s not doing anything more complicated than heating up leftovers, but it kills Javier that Yuzuru knows exactly where everything is, and he wants to keep him here forever. He doesn’t know what on earth compels these next words to come out of his mouth, but they do. He’s never been good at forethought, but this impulsiveness is beyond even his usual standards.

“This is why I like you so much.”

Yuzuru's chuckle is a little forced. “What do you mean?”

Javier has the chance to play it off. Say something inane about friendship and family. Instead, he says, “I think I might love you.”

“You think? You love me?” Yuzuru has abandoned the task of food. The fridge door is still open and his voice gains a hysterical edge.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“No, no, no, you don’t know what saying.” Yuzuru backs out of the kitchen, shaking his head. “There’s too much—I can’t. You can’t.”

“Why not?” Javier asks.

He steps forward. Yuzuru darts out of the way. His eyes—it's always the eyes—are wide when they meet Javier’s for the fraction of a second.

“I need to go,” Yuzuru says, practically running out of the kitchen. He barely gets his feet in his shoes before the door shuts behind him.

Javier stares at the space that used to be so filled, so occupied. He feels caught by the sudden shock of emptiness and wonders how it’s possible to fuck up something so badly. He shuts the fridge door. Effie meows quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long! And the length really doesn't excuse the time it took lol. It's super short. It's kinda like super transitional but also necessary? Idk but that's what got me stuck for a long time. I felt weird going back to answer comments from August so just know that they encourage me so much and it heartens me to hear that ppl like my humble little fic!! You're all such sweethearts and thank you for sticking it out!
> 
> Also this Olympic season has been hard. I can only hope it gets better...


End file.
